







































































































































COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT; 















































































































» 
























































* 




















GEORGE WARREN HOOTMAN 






























































A Collection of 

Selected Letters and Poems 


From tiie author's writings, some of which first appeared in 
Tiie Woodford County Republican, Eureka, Illinois. 


Touching many subjects of local and general interest and presenting 
in an original and compiled form some valuable 
literary and historical matter. 


VOLUME TWO 


By G. W. HOOTMAN 

it 


Some said, “George, print it,” 
Others said, “Not so,” 

'Some said, “It might do good,” 
Others said, “No.” 

—Adapted from Bunyan. 


PUBLISHED BY THE WOODFORD COUNTY REPUBLICAN 


1913 









T S3r/r 

. 05 -^ 

IV 3 


Co tfce memorg of mg mot&er, 


thru tobose sacrifice ant) bebotion 3 Iearnet) to 
obmome Difficulties, bp tobose prapers anti 
teachings mp feet toere DirecteD in (straight 
paths, from tobose noble GTlmstian life 3 
eatbereD hop* ant) inspiration, ant) to tobom 3 
otoe a Debt of lobe that 3 can neber repap, 
three paces are affectionately UeUicateU* : : : 


Copyright, 1913 
By G. W. HOOTMAN 



©CI.A34661 0 




Writings of a Roadman 


3 


SnttoDuction 


On the battlefield of life we admire those most who strive 
for victory in the higher realms of man’s activities. This volume 
that is now placed in the hands of Professor G. W. Hootman’s 
friends marks one of these higher achievements It is the 
Second Volume of a series of letters that were originally 
published in the Woodford County Republican, with the 
exception of a few of the articles. The facts for these articles 
were gathered from common every-day observations by Prof. 
Hootman while following his vocation of a traveling man, and 
he has made a splendid application of his broad, general knowl¬ 
edge to the facts in hand. There is no selfish regard for private 
profit in the publication of this volume, and it will probably 
reach the hands of those only who are looking for the wholesome, 
useful and helpful things of life. 

This Second Volume of “Writings of a Roadman” has an 
added attraction in the way of a collection of poems from the 
pen of Prof. Hootman. Some of his friends urged him to 
include these in the first volume, but they did not seem available 
with the mass of other matter at that time. In these poems the 
reader will find much that appeals to the imagination and fancy 
and the intellectual pleasure, and to a recognition of the fact that 
mind is the only active force in life. He has enjoyed the 
preparation of these in his leisure moments and now leaves them 
as an additional heritage for the enjoyment of his friends. 

P. E. LOW, 

Editor Woodford County Republican. 



4 


Writings of a Roadman 


Preface 


In publishing this, the second volume of “Writings of a 
Roadman,” the writer chiefly designs to leave a humble literary 
heritage to his posterity, and he has in no sense written for a place 
in the wide domain of authorship. An extended discussion of 
the numerous topics touched upon has not been attempted. 

The reader will readily note the extent of the observations 
and form some estimate of the travel necessary to “pick up” the 
facts and information here presented. The book is not perfect 
for the very good reason that its author is imperfect. 

Borrowing somewhat from the foreword of volume one, we 
will add that should these letters, together with the forty-five 
poems appended, profitably entertain and strengthen the higher 
and nobler purposes of those into whose hands this volume may 
chance to fall, the writer will have been amply repaid for the 
time and effort given to their preparation. 

G. W. H. 

Eureka, Illinois, January, 1913. 



Writings of a Roadman 5 

Contents 

Hcttere 

Page 

Some Dangers in College Life . 7 

Grafters and Good Advice . 10 

General Grant an Abstainer . 12 

Weary Willies and Transcendentalisms ....15 

Misrepresented Kansas . 18 

Seeing the Airship . 22 

Progress and Socialism . 26 

Superstition and Egotism . 29 

The Impress of Religious Training . 33 

Mother Shipman’s Prophecy . 36 

Opening an Indian Reservation ... \o 

Ambitious Monkeys .*43 

Plea for the Quail .47 

Spunk on the Free List .>. 50 

President Taft and Governor Johnson . 53 

Ironical Reference to Baldheads ... 57 

Woman Suffrage . 61 

General Coxey and Billy Sunday .. 66 

Decoration Day Memories . 69 

Bryan and Roosevelt . 72 

Progressive Sunflower State . 74 

Quaker Women and President Lincoln . 76 

Curse of the Black Bottle . 80 

A Trip Thru the Earth . 83 

Observations in Minnesota . 87 

Lawyers and Logic . 91 

Oldtime Religion . 94 

A Composite Word Picture . 97 


IPocms 

The Spirit of Spring . 1 .*.-.106 

When She Was Eight and I was Ten .-.107 

Tale of a Rustic Seat .108 

A Memory .-...109 

The Public .no 

Old Home Skies ... 111 

What Matter? .-.ni 






































6 


Writings of a Roadman 


Talking Through One’s Hat . 112 

Naming the Baby . TI 3 

The Divine Equation . Ir 4 

A Remembrance . IJ 5 

My Baby’s Letter . 

The Stolen Kiss .-.H 7 

Good Time Coming .118 

Growing Fat .118 

Pegging Away ..H 9 

Out in Kansas .120 

School Days .121 

Be Thankful ...-.121 

When Our Country Goes Dry .122 

The Winds of God .-.123 

A Boy’s Speech .124 

Hope’s Star .124 

Two Ways .125 

Contentment .125 

When “Padi” Comes to Town .:..I26 

Santa Claus .127 

Armageddon .128 

The May Basket .129 

Continuity of Love .129 

A Rainbow Somewhere All the Time .130 

Eating the Crust .130 

A Quartette of Kings .131 

The Perplexed Roadman .131 

When Mollie Gathers Greens ..132 

Harvest Home . 133 

In Nature’s Lap . 133 

Two Roses . 134 

Soul Yearnings .135 

Somebody’s Baby . 135 

Mother ..*.136 

Evening ...136 

Baseball, or “What’s the Score?” .137 

The Voice from Sinai .139 

The Fading Crown . 141 








































Writings of a Roadman 


7 


SOME DANGERS IN COLLEGE LIFE. 

Making People Over in Chicago—College Life Ruinous to Some 
Young Men—The Mollycoddles—A Helpful Remark 
from Senator De Pew. 

There is perhaps no spot in America excepting New York 
City where such great numbers, of people are being “made over’’ 
as here in Chicago. By this statement I refer to the thousands 
of men and women having recently come from foreign lands, 
who are now undergoing a change in manners, customs, senti¬ 
ments and even in many peculiar habits of life. These various 
changes are chiefly the result of “Americanizing” the children 
thru the influences of the public schools. 

Nearly ten years have passed since I first visited the schools 
of this city—the private, public and parochial institutions, and I 
am sure there are no better indexes to the real progress of intel¬ 
ligence and culture in this city, or any populous community, than 
the different schools where gather from year to year the multi¬ 
tudes of children and young people. The public schools are the 
chief hope of the Chicago that is to be. They are the one main 
channel thru which this cosmopolitan life, gathered from every 
clime on earth, can be most easily and effectively directed to 
useful and patriotic ends. And this evolution of peoples is being 
accomplished in a most interesting and marvelous fashion. 

* * * 

During the years of my road life, it has been my privilege 
to meet many of the young people of the numerous schools and 
colleges I have visited, to see and know not a few of them in 
their clubs and homes, to note their conversations, observe their 
tendencies and mark the drift of social customs. I am loth to 
record the fact that the young man’s college days may some¬ 
times be the beginning of a downward instead of an upward 
career, and that they may result in bitter disappointment to his 
friends at home and ultimate humiliation and possible ruin to 
himself. This is because he voluntarily chooses the evil way, 
exalts unworthy ambitions, emphasizes and magnifies the wrong 




Writings of a Roadman 


8 

thing, and discovers, when possibly too late, the grievous mistake 
he made in not heeding the admonitions of anxious friends. 

The writer has passed thru some school experiences and 
knows the temptations to which young men are subjected. 
Human nature is the same today as it ever has been, especially 
during the young man’s years at school. Within these years, 
while a learner myself, I was obliged to notice many weaknesses 
and deplorable tendencies in student life. One may stand on 
the bank of a stream and watch the raging torrent as it surges 
by, for it is not necessary to plunge into the turbid current in 
order to learn of its dangers. Many a youith, noble, pure-minded, 
clean young man, has, during his term at college, been trans¬ 
formed into a lecherous, impure fellow of a character most 
repugnant, unbecoming and vile. Unclean and vicious compan¬ 
ions have led him into habits that degrade, debauch and ultimately 
rob him, unconsciously perhaps, of his self-respect and a proper 
sense of true dignity and upright conduct. Frequent social indul¬ 
gences in tobacco and booze, being a partner in nocturnal and 
polite obscenity with his fellows, and the s^till more poisonous 
and forbidden clandestine privileges in compromising female 
society, soon change him into an unfeeling “tough ”—it may be 
a sort of “high roller,” egotistical, self-promoted, educational 
“strut,” but a tough nevertheless. 

The picture is not overdrawn—it is not as vivid as the plain 
truth really demands, but I must keep within the bounds of legit¬ 
imate criticism, and a temperate use of language counsels me to 
forego further comment. I might add just here that the “smart” 
college lad who goes swaggering along the street, with his fists 
thrust to the depths of his trouser pockets, his head protruding like 
that of a mud turtle from its shell, and wearing on the crown 
of hris head a cap about' the size of a fried egg, may not be the 
spoiled youth first noticed. He will probably outgrow his 
present fancies in style of dress and general deportment, and 
should he a little later follow the dictates of his native good 
sense in a befitting manner, the world will soon forget his follies 
and forgive his vanity. 

My readers may ask, Is this education? Yes, but not of the 
most desirable sort. Rather than the results of the young man 
as first mentioned, yea, a thousand times rather, would the boy 
better stay on the farm, in the shop, or forever remain an igno¬ 
ramus and play the part of a mediocre in the most humble occu¬ 
pation. I am not painting imaginary pictures. Neither am I 
condemning all colleges, but there are institutions of learning 


Writings of a Roadman 


9 


where these things obtain, and they flaunt a respectability 'that 
defies criticism. In these same schools, young men of exem¬ 
plary habits are scorned by the “smart set,” and told they are not 
men butt mere mollycoddles, if they do not bear the marks of the 
“fast life.” True educators must certainly deprecate and regret 
the passing of the once ideal student—intellect dominant, 
refined appearance, cultured demeanor, gentle manners—a clean 
life commanding respect everywhere. Of 'the superseding type, 
a modern critic says, “We see shrewd trustees, stately dons and 
sage professors lavishing nine-tenths of their athletic funds on 
nine per cent of the student bod}' and in periodic fits of madness 
abandoning their robes and their sanity, yelling for hours on 
exposed bleachers for the eleven beefiest representatives 1 of that 
institution.” 

* * * 

On the evening of April 26, before the Montauk Club, 
Brooklyn, Senator De Pew delivered a most interesting address. 
I give his closing words, a refreshing and beaultiful allusion to 
one of the creations of Charles Dickens. “It is said that Dora 
in David Copperfield, one of the sweetest creations of Dickens, 
was his early love. They separated. He had an unhappy 
married life, possibly because he cherished always the picture of 
lovely, incomprehensible, inclusive little Dora. But when thirty 
years afterward he rushed with the eagerness of a young lover 
to meet Dora on her invitation and found a fat, florid, silly and 
ordinary English woman, the reminiscences of a lifetime were 
shattered and happiness and hope were gone. 

“My friends, we are seeking the secrets of longevity and 
happiness, and libraries have been written upon them, but the 
real pleasures of life are to keep fresh in our memory the Doras 
of our youth, and to meet others as we progress who are as 
fresh and as lovely. The old country church of our childhood, 
the old school where we were taught, the old college from which 
we were graduated are our Doras as fresh and sweet and lovely 
as ever. 

“The men and women who filled us with ambition and taught 
us to aspire, who stood by until we could stand alone and who 
cheered us as we started upon the marathon race of life are still 
our Doras. The right-minded man sees in the youth about him 
the Doras of sacred memory, and with genuine emotion and 
pleasure he loves their society and finds encouragement in their 
dreams.” 

Chicago, May 17, 1909. 


10 


Writings of a Roadman 


GRAFTERS AND GOOD ADVICE. 


The Power of Example—A Great State—Remarks On an Ideal. 


When my Iowa friends learn that I am recently from that 
Illinois city of startling sensations, Peoria, they grow interested 
and ask all sorts of questions. In fact, a large part of my talk 
thus far, has been to make plain that all Peoria people are not 
“Grafters,” and that while the recent sensations there, because 
of the defalcations of Supt. N. C. Daugherty have greatly surprised 
and shocked the moral sense of the community, the growth and 
business interests of the city will move right along. I find all 
traveling men speak of Peoria as a good business center. Of 
course, you cannot get any one in the city from which I write 
to admit that the city on the “Still Water” is in any particular 
superior to this. The two cities are close rivals in point of 
population. 

* >fc 

The people of Iowa are proud of the work done at Washing¬ 
ton by their representatives. Because of his success on the 
railroad rate bill, they regard Senator Dolliver as good presi¬ 
dential timber. Probably no state has a greater number of 
distinguished men in the halls of national legislation than Iowa. 
But many of these able men are the products of conditions in 
other states. They or their parents came here when the country 
was “wild and woolly” and this alone indicates that they are 
made of material of which any state or community need not be 
ashamed. 

* * * 

The ideals of men usually make or unmake them. If the 
“Ideals” be high enough, one usually attains accordingly, be it 
in work lowly or exalted. A recent writer has summarized the 
new century ideals worthy of our careful attention, as follows: 
“To weigh the material in the scales of the personal, and measure 
life by the standard of love; to prize health as contagious happi¬ 
ness, wealth as potential service, reputation as latent influence, 
learning for the light it can shed, power for the help it can give, 
station for the good it can do; to choose in each case what is 
best on the whole, and accept cheerfully incidental evils involved, 
to put myself into all I do, and indulge no single desire at the 
expense of myself as a whole, to crowd out fear by devotion to 




Writings of a Roadman 


11 


duty, and see present and future as one; to treat others as I 
would my best friend; to lend no oil to the foolish, but let my 
light shine freely for all; to make no gain by another’s loss, and 
buy no pleasure with another’s pain; to harbor no thought of 
another which I would be unwilling that another should know; 
to say nothing unkind to amuse myself, and nothing false to 
please others; to take no pride in weaker men’s failings, and 
bear no malice toward those who do wrong; to pity the selfish 
no less than the poor, the proud as much as the outcast, and the 
cruel even more than the oppressed; to worship God in all that 
is good and true and beautiful; to serve Christ wherever a sad 
heart can be made happy or a wrong will set right; and to recog¬ 
nize God’s coming kingdom in every institution and person that 
helps men to love one another.” 

* * * 

While there is some snow on the ground at this time, I have 
noticed everywhere that unfailing harbinger of spring time, the 
small boy and his marbles. The groundhog and the goose bone 
signs may fool us, but the boy and his marbles give us full and 
complete assurance of the approaching days of the welcome 
summer. 

DesMoines, Iowa, March 17, 1906. 


12 


Waitings of a Roadman 


GENERAL GRANT AN ABSTAINER. 

Floods in the Missouri Valley—Educators’ Comment on Young 
College Men—General Grant Drank No Whiskey—The 
Uncertainty of Living—Superstition. 


Editor Republican:—It has been just one year since excessive 
rains brought floods and consequent disaster to eastern Nebraska. 
Your readers have probably read of the recent terrible inundations 
of cities and towns in the Missouri Valley. It was my good for¬ 
tune to pass thru the section of the country seriously affected 
just a few days before the worst arrived. The Sioux City Journal 
of July 8 reports from Council Bluffs as follows: 

“It will be days before the traces of Monday’s terrible bap¬ 
tism of water and mud will be effaced from the streets and from 
the business houses and homes in the flooded districts in Council 
Bluffs. And the damage to wearing apparel of the 20,000 people 
who got caught at Lake Manawa and Fairmont Park by the storm 
can only be guessed. In the basement of the new theater there 
is a deposit of mud four feet thick and to remove it will require 
the removal of a section of the basement wall. Not in fifteen 
years, and old timers say never before, has the city suffered from 
SO' severe a flood. That no one was drowned is looked upon now- 
as bordering on the miraculous.” 

I will add that altho all the region roundabout has suffered 
more or less because of the heavy rains, the crops on the uplands 
were looking well, and some of the most beautiful country I have 
ever seen in my travels I looked upon in South Dakota while on 
my way to this city. 

* * * 

It was my fortune, or rather misfortune, to visit Sheldon in 
northwestern Iowa on the date of the Barnum & Bailey show 
This famous amusement aggregation attracted great multitudes 
on that occasion. In fact the town was overrun with people. All 
went well until a furious rainstorm struck the city. The rain fell 
in torrents about the time the crowds were getting away from the 
afternoon exhibition. The available train service for carrying the 
visitors out of town was entirely inadequate and so several hun¬ 
dred of tired and disgusted people from near-by towns walked 
the streets all night. 

The management of the show found it almost impossible to 




Writings of a Roadman 


IS 


move their wagons to the train, and even after hitching 58 horses 
to the great tent wagon and also having an elephant to push, they 
could make no headway. The wagon had to be raised by jacks 
before they could proceed to the station. Moreover, men and 
horses and wagons remained in the streets all night and many of 
the horses, thru sheer fatigue, lay down in the mud and water. 
I mention this as an incident to what may follow when the win¬ 
dows of Heaven open and pour out their floods upon an unpre¬ 
pared community. 

* * * 

In giving my last letter of several weeks ago to the public, 
the compositor unintentionally coined a very significent word, 
namely “mooly-coodle.” My readers no doubt readily under¬ 
stand that the word was intended for “Mollycoddle,” meaning a 
man with female mental characteristics, habits and tendencies. 
The mistake was really to the advantage of all who are interested 
in these occasional slips, as it suggests a severer meaning than 
the word ordinarily used. I have thought that it would be an 
altogether legitimate interpretation to say that “moolycoodle” 
could mean nothing less than a mollycoddle “gone to seed,” or 
the complete “femininizing” of a creature whom God intended 
should be a man. 

* * * 

To further vindicate the truth of my statements relative to 
some colleges, made in my former correspondence, I quote briefly 
as follows from the editorial page of a leading Chicago daily. 
“To those who mistake passionate earnestness and deliberate over¬ 
statement for pessimism, the situation in American college 
life must appear very gloomy indeed. Here is the new head of 
Harvard telling us that American students are not yet convinced 
of the benefits of intellectual competition or the value of exami¬ 
nations as tests of scholarship. And here is Dr. Wilson of Prince¬ 
ton saying that he doesn’t care to be a ringmaster under existing 
conditions when the side shows—athletics, frats, and social clubs— 
have swallowed up the circus and we in the main tent do not know 
what is going on.” 

And here also is Dean Fordyce of Nebraska University saying 
at the recent meeting of the N. E. A. held at Denver: “These 
public school teachers tell me that their boys leave them clean in 
mind and strong in body and fitted for a college life, and in six 
months they succumb to temptation. I’ll tell you. They have been 
going to a secondary school under a home influence. They come 


74 Writings of a Roadman 

to college as their own masters and in a few months they„ 
under the alluring vices constantly flaunted before their eyes.” 

* * * 

While in Chicago on the evening of May 30, I attended the 
services of the Chicago Sunday Evening Club at Orchestra Hall. 
General Frederick D. Grant and General O. O. Howard were 
present, the former making a brief talk and the latter delivering 
the address of the occasion. In paying a worthy tribute to the 
union soldiers of the Civil War, and also to General U. S. Grant, 
General Howard told a story of sleeping in the same room with 
General Grant at Bridgeport, Alabama, during the war. A whiskey 
flask was hanging on the wall of the room and General Howard 
said he apologized to his superior officer, saying, “I never use it 
myself. This whiskey was probably left here by some soldier.’ 
“Neither do I use it” answered General Grant, “and what is more, 
I am sorry that any man in the army does.” These little side¬ 
lights on the personal habits of great men are certainly interesting, 
to say the least. 

* * * 

As a closing thought I shall here mention the uncer¬ 
tainty of human life. Not to impress the question of 
uncertainty upon the minds of those who may read these 
lines, but rather to note the briefness of the passage 
of even the person who attains to the years of a useful 
manhood or womanhood. Within a fortnight just passed I have 
noted the sudden passing—“dying in the harness” as it were, of 
two men whom I have known well for a number of years, one in 
Chicago and the other in Omaha. After all, the span of life is 
plainly bounded by a tiny cradle at the beginning and a little green 
mound at the end. Fortunate is that one who early learns the im¬ 
portant truth in these lines: 

“We! live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths; in 
feelings, not in figures on a dial. We should count time in heart- 
throbs. He most lives who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts 
the best.” 

* * * 

As I recentl} r stood for a few moments on the corner of a 
busy street in Omaha, a striking specimen of the “girl with red 
hair” passed by . T10 satisfy my curiosity, L turned about and 
looked for the proverbial “white horse.” No such horse was in 
sight, but just then, with a frightening “swish,” there passed a 
great, white automobile, and I felt that the intuitive promptings of 
a senseless superstition were once more vindicated. 

Sioux Falls, S. D., July 9, 1909. 





Writings of a Roadman 


15 


WEARY WILLIES AND TRANSCENDENTALISMS. 

Evolution of the Hobo—Agriculture and Productive Education— 
The Tyranny of Fashion—A Question in 
Psychology—“Chestnuts.” 


Editor Republican:—Since my last communication appeared in 
the columns of your weekly news sheet, I have finished my trip 
thru Kansas and Missiouri, spent nearly a fortnight visiting 
cities in my own state, and now find myself once more over here 
in the commonwealth of the Hoosiers. While in southern Kansas 
several weeks ago, I noticed a large crop of dandelion “greens” 
just ready to be gathered. Today as I came to this city I could 
see that this same plant had reached about the same stage of 
advancement as the ones I saw farther south. Perhaps in one month 
from now I shall find them fresh and green along the highways 
of central Wisconsin and Minnesota. If I were fond of the food 
prepared from this plant, my feast of “greens” would continue for 
several weeks, for many hotels serve them as a “vegetable” so 
long as they remain in an edible condition. 

* * * 

One is often puzzled to know where all the “Weary Willies” 
come from, and how they ever get started as professional beggars. 
It is fortunate for the co-untry that they are not so numerous as 
in former years, yet they are sufficiently in evidence tO' attract 
some attention during certain seasons of the year. Before leaving 
Missouri I noticed an account of how one “Pirate Jim,” a noted 
mendicant, discovered how easily he could live without work, and 
I here give the cause of his downfall as reported by one who 
claimed to know him personally. 

The report says that Jim’s haunts were chiefly the river towns 
from Omaha to Joplin. However, on one occasion he wandered 
as far as Nashville and here is where he discovered the latent 
generosity of a sympathizing public. The account says, No one 
ever knew how he got so far from his usual trail. He sat down 
on a prominent corner and promptly fell asleep. His hat slipped 
from his wabbly head and landed upside down squarely between 
his knees. This gave him the appearence of a blind man asking 
alms. When Jim awoke he was delightfully surprised by the sight 




16 


Writings of a Roadman 


which met his gaze. The pitying public had contributed $6.50 into 
his hat during the two hours he sat there asleep. This unusual 
experience proved to be Jim’s undoing, for he rapidly drifted into 
the ranks of the professional hobo.” 

* * * 

While in the city of LaFayette last week, I learned much con¬ 
cerning the great work that is being done by the faculty and 
students of Purdue University. I refer especially to the depart¬ 
ments of agriculture, mechanical and electrical engineering. I am 
unable to give the accurate rating of this institution compared 
with our own university at Urbana, but to a causal observer the 
work in each seems to be of an exceptionally high order. It is 
interesting to note in recent years the rapid growth of agricultural 
colleges. They are already accomplishing wonders, and still their 
general usefulness to the state and to the whole country is little 
understood by the average citizen. When the field of agriculture, 
the value of manual training in our schools and the immense 
utility growing out of a study of domestic science are more fully 
comprehended, the public will then enjoy benefits yet undreamed 
of, and we shall bequeath to posterity a rich heritage of possibili¬ 
ties that are at present beyond the reach of this generation. 

* * * 

Just here I am constrained to raise a protest against the 
tyranny of fashion. None of us wholly escapes the annoyance and 
inconvenience of our “advanced” civilization. We pay dearly for 
some of our vaunted social customs. The exactions of society 
bear down with remorseless persistency on multitudes of frail 
mortals who can ill-afford the “luxury” of what, to many, has 
become an absolute necessity in the daily routine of ordinary 
vocations. While I was a passenger on a train a few weeks since, 
I observed a mother and her daughter, a young woman, enter the 
car. They were modestly attired, excepting the hat worn by the 
young lady. The mother was obliged to sit uncomfortably near 
the wall of the coach in order that her daughter’s headgear might 
not interfere with the liberty of those passing to and fro in the 
aisle of the car. The hat in question must have cost every cent of 
fifty dollars. Again, as a train on which I was riding last week 
discharged its passengers at Streator, I saw a young woman 
wearing one of the season’s fashionable “creations” with a diam¬ 
eter so enormous that it had to be turned down several inches on 
either side that fhe wearer might be permitted tO' pass thru 
the doorway of the coach. A fair young lady of some forty sum¬ 
mers recently told me that she much preferred a hat of sensible 


Writings of a Roadman 


17 


dimensions, but it seemed impossible to find any such at the lead¬ 
ing milliner shops. In this condition we readily see the “tyranny 
of fashion.” 

There are many creations in Nature, 

In the sea, on land,—everywhere; 

There are marvelous things all around us, 

And many are wondrously fair. 

The creation, however, most shocking, 

That makes us look this way—and that, 

Is the headgear now flaunted by Fashion, 

And known as a young lady’s hat. 

* * * 

It is with some hesitancy that I here mention what to me has 
been a mystery for many years, namely, why it is that certain of 
our fellow creatures (usually the males) may be observed at sun¬ 
dry times and in various places passing meditatively along the 
lane of life, and, oblivious of what may be passing around them, 
carry on a reflective monologue or soliloquy—muttering in a sort 
of incoherent fashion, something, no one but themselves knows 
what. Query: Is it a sign of mental decay or an evidence of 
accumulated wisdom? Does it reveal the troubles that weigh down 
the heart, or is it an indication of that philosophical condition of 
mind that marks the individual who has risen to the lofty eminence 
of speculative transcendentalisms? Who knows? 

In order to somewhat relieve my mind on the question raised, 
I will add that ithe mental phenomena thus briefly mentioned 
appears to me to run parallel with the age and experience of the 
fellow who absent-mindedly persists in telling over and over again 
some insipid and stale story that he heard when a boy. This same 
well-meaning individual seems to forget that he is now old; that 
his stock of jokes and stories are likewise considerably out of date, 
or at least musty from age, and that while they may illustrate his 
point, they have been repeated so often as to smell “chestnutty” 
the moment he lifts the lid from his precious box of “that-reminds 
mes.” 

Being fully aware that we are all subject to the same general 
law of growth and decay, and that the vanities of the “ego” may 
easily cause any of us to “err in human blindness,” I have perhaps 
unconsciously stated a case of which I myself am a most fitting 
example. 

Indianapolis, Ind., April 26, 1909. 


18 


Writings of a Roadman 


MISREPRESENTED KANSAS. 

Spring Planting in Kansas—Lake Trout and Beechnut Bacon- 

Shooting Decoy Ducks—Whiskey and Buffalo Meat— 

The Invalid Bore—Liquor Interests Misrepresent 
and Are Rebuked—Personal Reference. 

Editor Republican:—Several moons have rolled ’round since I 
penned my last communication to the readers of your paper. The 
thought of sending you a “letter” has been in my mind for some 
time. Nevertheless, I have had to be content in doing less preten¬ 
tious things, and possibly more useful, than endeavoring to note 
occasional items of interest as I journeyed along from week to 
week. Speaking of contentment reminds me of a definition for the 
word which I recently observed. Here it is: “Contentment comes 
neither by culture nor by wishing. It is a reconciliation to one’s 
lot, growing out of an inward feeling of superiority to one’s sur¬ 
roundings.” 

* * * 

Active preparations preliminary to the spring seeding seems 
to be the order of the day out in this part of the country. Garden 
making is far advanced and ere long an abundant supply of home 
grown garden “sass” will be in evidence everywhere. The leading 
hotels of our best cities usually serve the vegetable products of the 
South several weeks before the northern crop is ready for the 
market. Just here I wish to state that I have often wondered how 
the hotels of the country are supplied so continuously with two 
certain kinds of food, namely, “lake trout” and “beechnut bacon.” 
For years I have noted the item of “lake trout,” or sometimes 
“fresh lake trout,” on bills of fare at a majority of the hotels which 
1 patronize. Of course, we all understand that trout is a very 
choice fish—much preferred to the German carp or the buffalo, and 
the wonder is, Why will hotel managers purchase such an expen¬ 
sive article as “trout” when less valuable fish would probably 
answer just as well And “beechnut bacon” we all know is a very 
choice selection of pork produced by feeding the growing swine 
large quantities of beechnuts or “mast” of some sort. It matters 
not if the annual yield of beechnuts be short or an entire failure 
the bacon is announced just the same. But one soon becomes 
suspicious and accepts the situation as it is—considerably overdone 
and exaggerated by enterprising chefs in the secret chambers of 




Writings of a Roadman 


19 


the culinary department of the public inn. Moreover, “milk-fed 
chicken” impositions might be classed with “lake trout’* and 
“beechnut bacon,” for they are all intended to deceive the unsus- 
pectng guest who humbly accepts what is set before him and, 
serenely and ungrudgingly, pays three prices therefor. 

* * * 

The time for duck shooting has just closed, and I give the 
following as one of the amusing incidents of the season: A 
party of Salina men went out last week in search for ducks and 
took with them four wooden decoys. The decoys were placed 
in a pond. Ralph Hood, a 15-year old boy, with his repeating 
shotgun, came galloping up on his horse and after dismounting 
crawled down near a hedge fence where he came upon the Salina 
party. Edging on a little further young Hood espied the decoys. 

“There are some ducks,” he exclaimed. 

Well, let them have it,” said one of 1 the party. 

“Bang! Bang! Bang!” did Mr. Hood pump into the decoys. 

Then he discovered that he had been blazing into a bunch of 
wood.” 

* * * 

From Great Bend under date of Marchl 25 comes an item of 
news of peculiar interest. It says, “In 1872 the town of Ellis was 
quite a trading point. At that time G. Daily was storekeeper there. 
He sold most everything that was required at the time, including 
whiskey. Mr. Daily still has some of the old goods in the line of 
bridles, saddles, high-heeled boots, broad-brimmed, hats, gauntlet 
gloves, spurs and other cowboy paraphernalia that he bought in 
the early seventies. 

His books show the following sales: 

MacDonald, J 4 -pint of whiskey, 30c; pair of mitts, $2.50. 

John Phelps, 2 bars soap, 20c; one cigar, 15c. 

O. Chapman, one drink, 15c; ditto, 15c; ditto, 15c. 

MacDonald, one bottle Wine of Life, $1.00; five drinks, 75c; 
cigars $1.00. 

Q. G. Remmert, 59 lbs. buffalo meat at 4c, $2,36. 

J. Linquist, 58 lbs. buffalo meat at 4c, $2.32. 

It will be noticed that whiskey and buffalo meat were at that 
time two of the principal articles of trade. Sugar sold at 6 lbs. 
for $1.00 and corn at $1.25 per bushel.” 

* * * 

The following lines need no explanation. I am told the author 
resides w'here the sunflowers grow. 


20 Writings of a Roadman 

“The bores, they are with us forever. 

The bores that our ancestors knew. 

And it is a man’s constant endeavor, 

To sidestep the wearisome crew. 

The best of their number displeases, 

And the worst of the pestilent tribe, 

Is the bore who has forty diseases, 

\ The which he would fully describe. 

You all know the bore who has traveled. 

And seen all the glories of Rome; 

You’ve all heard his stories unravelled, 

And wished he had never come home. 

You all know the old bore who wheezes- 
Of his triumphs at checkers and whist 

But the bore with the forty diseases, 

Still stands at the head of the list. 

Some bores have the best of intentions, 

And some harbor malice, in sooth; 

Some bore us with awkard inventions, 

And others with tedious truth. 

Some bore us with hiccoughs and sneezes 
And some with an onionized breath, 

But the bore with the forty diseases, 

Is the bore who can bore us to death.” 

* * * 

My readers will readily call to mind some of the facts 
employed by the liquor interests in the local option fight in Illi¬ 
nois last year. Here is a copy of some of their literature sent to 
a Kansas City paper on March 26 from San Diego,California, where 
a local option war is now being waged. It is headed “Blighted by 
Bigotry.” I give a part of the circular as follows: 

“Kansas City, Kan., puffers severe setback. Facts that the 
business men of San Diego can verify by writing to any Kansas 
City banker or real estate man. Under license it was impossible 
to find a vacant store in the city. One year after, there were 400 
vacant stores and rents had dropped very low. 

Crime increases as it always does. During six months in 1906 


Writings of a Roadman 


21 


under no license there were 1497 arrests (417 for drunkenness.) 
Business was blighted by bigotry. The only developments were 
made by the packers and soap manufacturers whose plants hap¬ 
pened to be located there, but whose business is done over all the 
country. The local merchants were crippled. 

Do your own figuring Mr. Voter. 

Everj'one of the above statements is absolutely true and is 
based on affidavits of business men of the “anti-afflicted city.” 

On March 27 the following item appeared in the same Kansas 
City paper: “Affidavits are being prepared refuting the statements 
in an advertisement appearing in San Diego, California, papers 
which says that Kansas City, Kans., is “Blighted by Bigotry.” The 
affidavits are sworn to by Carl Dehoney, secretary of the Mercan¬ 
tile club, C. L. Brokaw, cashier of the Commercial National bank 
and president of the Mercantile club, and Willard Merriam, a real 
estate man. Other signatures will be attached.” 

I will add that I recently spent some time in Kansas City, 
Kans., and I can and do testify that the above protest from the 
citizens of said city seems to> be a well-deserved rebuke to the 
liquor men who persist in misrepresenting the facts in the case. 

* * * 

Several months ago the writer placed in the editor’s hands for 
publication in book form about fifty letters that had appeared at 
different times in the columns of The Republican. Several mis¬ 
cellaneous articles were also included. The work was duly exe¬ 
cuted, but the finished product has but recently come from the 
bindery. From the office of the National Organization of Gideons 
at Chicago has been received these words from Frank A. Garlick, 
the National Secretary. 

“When one becomes weary with the turmoil of a busy day, it 
is an immense relief to pick up the letters of Geo. W. Hootman 
recently published in a small volume under the title, Writings of 
a Roadman. They are short, chatty, restful and helpful as well as 
informing—a splendid tonic.” 

According to the present demand the limited issue will soon 
be exhausted. The book is unique in several respects and is easily 
worth the price of one dollar—about actual cost of making. 
Hutchinson, Kansas, March 29, 1909. 


Writings of a Roadman 


22 


SEEING THE AIRSHIP. 

The Passing of Senator Dolliver—Seeing Wright’s Airship in 
Chicago—A Remarkable Sermon by a Tramp—A 
Scriptural Reason for Killing the Old Man. 

In passing thru Iowa a few days since, it was apparent on 
every hand that the minds of the people were centered on what 
was then transpiring at the little city of Ft. Dodge, the home of 
the late Senator J. P. Dolliver. My readers have already learned 
of the passing of this, perhaps the most noted of Iowa’s famous 
sons. It has been truly said that in the death of this man “The 
state lost a true friend, the whole people a champion of popular 
rights and the nation a strong man.” 

On the day of his burial there were some beautiful and appro¬ 
priate eulogies pronounced by able men from the various walks of 
life. His achievements were remembered in a fitting service and 
the silent tributes of respect laid upon the bier of the dead, 
together with those voiced by men who came to observe the last 
sad rites of almost filial devotion, could not have been more sol¬ 
emnly impressive had they been paid to earth’s most kingly 
potentate. 

Senator Dolliver was not only a brave and able defender of 
great political principles, but he was equally a bulwark of strength 
in the church. He believed in the influence and teachings of the 
old Book. In all the turmoil of political excitement at Washing¬ 
ton, he never forgot the sacred duties to which he was called by 
his friends in the little church at home. Two years ago while at 
Sheldon, Iowa, the writer was present at a meeting where Mr. 
Dolliver was speaking for his long-time colleague the late Senator 
Allison. He was much admired and greatly beloved by his con¬ 
stituency at home, and this was due to his earnest endeavors and 
faithfulness in carrying out the wishes of those whom he repre¬ 
sented. 

One who stood at his grave on the occasion of his burial has 
beautifully said, “May it not be at the moment of the death of a 
good man there gather around him his deeds of charity and 
kindness transferred into ministering angels and the spirits of those 
departed whom he has benefited and comforted by his life and that 
they bear aloft on luminous wings the freed spirit upward to the 
very portals of the city eternal.” The sentiment expressed in the 




Writings of a Roadman 23 

lines of George L. Banks seems a fitting motto for the life 
departed: 

‘‘I live for those who love me, 

For those who know me true, 

For the heaven that smiles above me 
And awaits my spirit, too; 

For the wrongs that need resistance, 

For the cause that needs assistance, 

For the future in the distance, 

And good that I can do.” 

* * * 

In a recent trip to the north country, it was my good fortune 
to be in Chicago on the date of the Airship flights by the Wright 
aviator. I 1 was one of about 200,000 other people who stood on 
the lake front—roundabout Grant Park and watched Walter R. 
Brookins soar aloft in a Wright biplane—the same machine that 
made the journey to Springfield and St. Louis, and the one in 
which ex-President Roosevelt made his debut as a passenger 
aboard aircraft some weeks ago. 

The writer was curious to see the airship at short range—to 
observe its construction and look upon its wonderful mechanism. 
As I stood by the tent which sheltered it,- vainly endeavoring to 
get a “peep” over the canvas wall, one of Nature’s biplanes, a 
beautiful specimen of the monarch anosia plexippus (a large but¬ 
terfly) came gracefully gliding over the top of the tent. It was 
noticed by a number of people and someone remarked that the 
problem of biplane flights was really solved many centuries ago. 
When the writer was a boy he used to recite the poem by J. T. 
Trowbridge, “Darius Green and His Flying Machine,” and what 
amusement it then afforded one to imagine “Darius” crawling out 
from the wreck of the fallen machine only to hear his brothers 
chide him by shouting, “Say, Darius, how d’ye like flying?” Even 
tho Darius was a myth, the story of his failure adds some 
interest to man’s recent achievements in mastering the realm of 
the air. 

* * * 

While I was visiting Decatur last week, the Herald printed 
a sermon by a Hobo, found on the blackboards of the Lincoln 
school house at Boody a short distance northwest of the city. The 
principal, J. T. Cannon, copied the words and he says that no book 
in the building contained the sermon. The Tramp, a seedy-looking 
fellow neither young nor old, was seen to enter the building by 
way of a basement window and was followed by some boys who 


Writings of a Roadman 


24 

saw him enter. The Hobo said, “Hello boys, I guess you got in 
the same way I did. I don’t want to do any harm. I like school 
houses. There is usually plenty to read.” The boys went away 
but the tramp remained over Sunday. He signed his name, “H. 
F. Weiman, The Man of God.” Here is what the teacher found on 
the blackboard: 

“There is a God. We are his creatures to learn his will or 
law concerning us, and to do it is the highest consistency of man. 
Man is a creature to obey laws or to be governed by laws and not 
a creator making laws. 

“It is not thru our ambition but thru our submission to God 
that we gain the most and best out of life. True government is 
thru the operation of invisible, spontaneous forces of laws, that is 
the way that the vegetable and animal kingdoms are governed. 
It remains for man to discover that his intellectual kingdom is 
governed in the same way, that he himself has nothing to do with 
true government; that true government is from invisible sources. 
“ ‘Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in 
heaven.’ ” 

“God is the only true government. We make a grave mistake 
in that we educate mostly for material victory that is corrupting 
and demoralizing. It is a noticable fact that men of material 
victory such as Harriman do ruin their health and shorten their 
lives thru their material ambition. 

“We should educate entirely for moral victory. That is uplift¬ 
ing and life-giving. History clearly reveals the truth that men of 
deep moral convictions and activity can endure and survive more 
than men of mere material ambition. Men whose names endure 
and find a place in the hearts of futurity, such as Washington and 
Lincoln, are men of moral victory. 

“God is the center or unit of all forces.” 

“To know God is the increase of life and consistency.” 

“The moral quality is the backbone of life.” 

“It is therefore of more importance to develop the knowledge 
of God than to develop knowledge of material industry. For what 
would a man be profited if he should gain the whole world and 
forfeit his life It is therefore high time that we give some 
practical heed to the teachings and examples of Him who came 
that we might have life and have it more abundantly. 

“You may talk what you will, but Jesus holds the true science 
of life. That science reveals the truth that man has outgrown, 


Writings of a Roadman 


25 


overstepped or transgressed his physical or animal nature, that 
this transgression is the cause of all man’s troubles, inconsisten¬ 
cies and miseries; that a new creation is going on in the lives of 
men, and that in the “new creation” is man’s only hope for to gain 
the enduring substance of consistency, life, liberty and happiness. 
The conflict between man’s physical and animal nature and his in¬ 
tellectual or spiritual nature, between passions and conscience, is 
the conflict of life. There is no compromise between the two. 

“That which grows out of man’s physical or animal nature is 
always wrong when it comes in conflict with his intellectual or 
spiritual nature. Man’s intellectual or spiritual nature must 
develop at the expense of his physical or animal nature. 

“The ultimate goal of man’s development is the entire annihila¬ 
tion of his physical and animal nature, and in finding perfection 
and completion in the full development of his intellectual and 
spiritual nature. The old man must gradually die thru the process 
of crucifixion or limitation and holding in check, and the new man 
must gradually develop thru the exercise of faith. 

“Education is not truth.” 

“Passion is not love.” 

“Legalism is not justice.” 

“Indulgence is not liberty.” 

“Humanism is not consistency.” 

“The principles of life lie beyond this material and physical 
world and beyond this material and physical world must we seek 
for them.” 

“Exercise of faith towards God is a far more effective creative 
force than is digestion. 

“Jesus Christ is the true bread of life and the real living 
water, that if a man eat and drink thereof he shall have the 
increase of life and consistency. 

“Active or living faith in Jesus the Christ will develop a man 
into a “new creature” with new understanding and new possibili¬ 
ties.” 

* * * 

The foregoing “sermon” will impress the average reader as 
containing a deep philosophy, richly worth careful meditation and 
the most earnest thought. 

Omaha, Neb., Oct. 22, 1910. 


26 


Writing* of a Roadman 


PROGRESS AND SOCIALISM. 


Socialism 'in Milwaukee—W. J. Bryan and a Live Issue—The 
Hired Man Question—Automobile Craze— 

Definition of Pessimist. 


This communication comes from the city where they are 
trying municipal government as administered by Socialists. Thus 
far Mayor Seidel has made a good record and there is much 
promise of better things to come before his term of office expires. 
He has started some interesting investigations into the policies 
and practices of former administrations and has refused to renew 
the liquor licenses of more than one hundred applicants. How¬ 
ever, as 1 there are yet more than nineteen hundred saloons in the 
city, it is not probable that the thirsty citizen will suffer any 
great inconvenience on account of the recent diminution in grog¬ 
shops. I have been told that ex-Mayor Rose, noted for his defense 
of the saloon system, will not continue to reside in Milwaukee. 
Perhaps the sting of defeat has something to do with his going. 
During my stay here I have seen more beer-beslobbered, intoxi¬ 
cated men than in any city I visit. 

* * * 

It is but a few weeks since William Jennings Bryan was the 
chief orator at a meeting of the Catholic Total Abstinence Union 
in the Auditorium Theatre, Chicago. Within the past dozen years 
Mr. Bryan has been prominent before the country in various 
political issues, but he never came so near springing a real “live” 
issue as he did on the occasion mentioned above when he said, 
“I would not favor legislation forbidding the use of liquor at any 
time or under any circumstances. I would consider this an unnec¬ 
essary limitation upon the liberty of the individual, but I am in 
favor of such restriction as may seem necessary for the protec¬ 
tion of society.” 

“There is a good deal of discussion at this time over the unit. 
That is as to whether the power to regulate the liquor traffic 
shall be vested in the town, in the precinct, in <the county, in the 
state, or in the nation. I hold that every unit ought to have 
power to act. on this subject, except as it is restrained by a larger 
unit. That is, that the block, the ward, the city, the precinct, the 
county, the state and the nation should have the undisputed right 
to exclude the sale ol liquor within its limits, or to fix such 
restrictions upon the sale of liquor as the people of the unit may 




Writings of a Roadman 


27 


deem necessary for their protection and welfare. I believe also 
that the larger unit has a right to control the small one in this, 
as on other subjects. 

“I believe that we ought to have an act of Congress recogniz¬ 
ing the right of a state to control shipments of liquor the moment 
the liquor enters the state. If the state can be intrusted with the 
enactment of laws for the protection of the home, for the pro¬ 
tection of property and for the protection of life, it ought to be 
intrusted with the enactment of liquor laws. If the state can be 
trusted with the imprisonment of the individual and even with 
the taking of human life, surely it can be intrusted with the con¬ 
trol of the use, sale and transportation of liquor within its bor¬ 
ders.” 

Who can say that in the coming readjustment of party lines 
we may not yet behold some of our mast aggressive and pro¬ 
gressive political leaders aligned against the liquor traffic. Less 
likely things have happened and with the present feeling of dis¬ 
trust and dissatisfaction it would be an easy thing for one of the 
old parties to provoke the other to good works on this very issue. 

jjs >K * 

While passing thru Iowa a few weeks since I saw a bit of 
advice to farmers relative to the “hired man” question, I quote 
the same for the benefit of those who may be needing a sug¬ 
gestion bearing upon such matters. “Some farmers have a lot 
of trouble keeping a hired man thru the season, but they do not 
manage right. First, select your man just as you would a rooster, 
but don’t pay so much attention to his comb and pltimage. Get 
a tall one as his victuals will last longer, it will help in getting over 
the fence quickly when the bull gets after him, and he can sleep 
with his feet out of the window. 

“Now feed him all he wants for a day or two and don’t ask 
him to do anything. If there is a ball game take him to it and let 
him stay in town over night. Don’t ask him to do anything you 
can do yourself and if he should be determined to work, let him 
go out in the shade and feed the hens. 

“If he should begin to look uneasy, have a horse and carriage 
every night to drive to town and you can afford to do that in 
order to keep him. 

“Have your wife do all his washing and mending. The hired 
girl should be taught to> sing to him when he is lonely. Nothing 
tends to relieve the tedium of a hired man like the music from 
a girl who is a first-class warbler. 


Writings of a Roadman 


28 


“If he gets tired of the hired girl, get another and also have 
the school ma’am board at your home. There is no trouble in 
keeping your hired man if you don’t insist on his working all the 
time.” 

* * * 

From an extended observation I am quite confident of two 
things, namely, that the country has “gone to seed” on “nickel¬ 
odeon” shows or moving pictures, and is rapidly going crazy 
over the pastime of motoring—touring the country in an 
“auto.” It matters not where one travels, the conditions in this 
respect are the same. In the city, the village and the hamlet— 
even among the sparsely settled country districts, the “buzz 
wagon” is much in evidence. 

To be sure there is nothing wrong in owning an automobile 
and ordinarily no harm in using the same, but to note the rapidity 
with which the desire to own one of these machines has spread 
to every corner of our country, and to observe the reports of the 
numerous reckless expenditures in this direction, is certainly 
enough to make any sober citizen wonder where it will all end. 

Within a few years these machines will be old—be ready for 
the junk heap and in many cases the mortgage on the same will 
remain unpaid. What then? But after all is it anyone’s business 
how Jim Smith and Judge Brown spend their money? The “rainy 
day,” for which we are all admonished to provide, may never 
come, and moreover, should these fellows meet death at the 
“hands of the automobile,” they will need no more money, so 
what’s the use hoarding it? 

* * * 

I have heard a pessimist defined as a man who refuses to eat 
a doughnut because it has a hole in it, and someone has said that 
an optimist is one who sits up nights making lemonade out of the' 
“lemons” handed him during the day. 

Milwaukee, Wis., July 12, 1910. 


Writings of a Roadman 


29 


SUPERSTITION AND EGOTISM. 


Brief Comment on South Dakota—What a Roadman Hears— 
Superstition and Dreams—Growing Fat. 


The state officials of South Dakota are just moving into one 
of the most substantial looking and attractive capitol 
buildings that I have ever seen. I was told that it was 
erected at a cost of three-quarters of a million dollars, 
and there certainly was little or no “graft” in the deal, 
for it easily looks like a million-dollar edifice. Pierre, the 
capital, is a growing city of several thousand population. Its 
location is near the central part of the state on the north bank 
of the muddy Missouri. At present its chief artery of trade is 
a branch of the Northwestern railway, but I have been told that 
the Rock Island system is projecting a line that will run from 
Winnipeg on the north to Aberdeen, thence south to Pierre, 
touching the towns of Blunt and Onida to the north of this place. 

* * * 

The ranch of “Scotty” Phillips is located several miles north 
of the capital city and is somewhat famed for its large herd of 
buffalos, an interesting remnant of the once innumerable bisons 
that roamed over these vast plains. There are about two hun¬ 
dred in the herd) and it is increasing from year to year. 

* * * 

While in Pierre we were hospitably entertained at the home 
of one of our former townsmen, E. N. Renz—“Ed” as he was 
familiarly known in Eureka. He is a substantial member of the 
Wegner Auto Company and as a hustling salesman makes mat¬ 
ters interesting for competing firms. Mr. Renz seems so well 
pleased with Pierre and this part of the state that he entertains 
no notion of ever again turning his face eastward. He gave us 
a 40-mile run in his auto into the country and we viewed several 
square miles of “raw” or uncultivated farm lands, a fine looking 
tract for sale at from $35 to $50 per acre. During the trip the 
usual monotony was frequently broken by the clear, liquid notes 
of the northern meadow lark—about the only evidence of bird 
life to be seen on the wide prairies. Farm homes were “few and 
far between,” 

* * * 

We were considerably surprised to learn that the people of 
Pi0frg had recently voted out the saloons. Nevertheless, this 




so 


Writings of a Roadman 


move only shows the progressive spirit of these western towns. 
The city has the best quality of city water in the world. It is 
the clear, cold snow water carried to this point thru the channel 
of the Missouri river and then conducted to an immense reser¬ 
voir thru a process of filtration so thoro that the water is restored 
to its original purity as it is found at its source in the Rocky 
Mountains in southern Montana. It is shipped in large quanti¬ 
ties outside, points and sold as “Minneshakla water.” 

* * * 

While passing thru Dakota we saw flocks of seemingly 
innumerable wild ducks. The ponds and lakes of the state, we 
were told are fine breeding grounds for these birds. We also saw 
thousands upon thousands of mud-hens but as a game bird we 

understand they are of no value. 

* * * 

During the years of my experiences on the road I have 
encountered many peculiar notions in religion, philosophy, poli¬ 
tics and the broad field of individual speculation. It is surprising 
to note the wide difference of opinion regarding the plans and 
purposes of the Eternal, and it is rather depressing tO' observe the 
woeful ignorance and often presumptuous egotism manifested by 
ordinarily sane people on some of the questions easily under¬ 
stood by almost everybody. 

One may frequently hear the assertion that “there is no hell,” 
that a compassionate God would not cast one of his own creatures 
into a place of endless torment. Yet these same people would 
fondly anticipate the joys of Heaven, and one is led to wonder 
if they are not talking to ease their own consciences. Moreover, 
the Bible story of creation, the account of our first parents the de¬ 
stroying flood, the sacred records of remote history and the propa¬ 
gation and conquests of the early tribes of men are mere fables— 
to them imaginary tales of purely human origin. 

And I find in the thought of some very intelligent people— 
those occupying positions of influence—holding professorships in 
our Christian colleges, the motion that nothing has come to pass 
thru any supernatural process. That everything physical and 
spiritual must be accounted for on premises or thru causes easily 
understandable to the fellow who reaches all truth thru the labor¬ 
atory route. 

They seem to forget that the supernatural comes thru 
the natural and because of this, one may easily mistake the 
supernatural for the natural. Blessed is the man who 
recognizes in creation a Power back of creation and who is 


Writings of a Roadman 


SI 


willing to admit that mankind knows not all the intricate work¬ 
ings of that Power. 

Some time ago when I sent a young friend my congratula¬ 
tions on his marriage and wished for him the Father’s blessing, 
he replied that he had never been aware that God knew that such 
a fellow as he was living. There are evidently great hosts 
of people who think this is ai world of chance only, and that the 
question of good or bad luck determines the course and trend 
of all things human. It is really a wonder that some good people 
are willing to surrender to the lines of Fate so plainly recognized 
in their common beliefs. 

* * * 

Superstition still abounds as is evidenced in the reported 
suicides which have been recently committed thru the fear of dire 
consequences when the comet hits the earth. People still cling to 
“signs” and “omens” and shudder at the pictures of the imagina¬ 
tion revealed in dreams. It is a brave heart, indeed, that can go 
tranquilly along, happy and undisturbed by the turbulent tossing 
of the cosmic waves. 

And in all of this struggle for power and eminence, what a 
peace and satisfaction there is in finding the “Pearl of greatest 
price,” for it is worth more than the wealth of a thousand worlds 
like this. Furthermore, what a great company of our fellow 
citizens at this moment are morally certain that the country of 
Greenland lies southeast from the north pole (when it does not) 
and that our national prosperity depends on the planks of a party 
platform rather than on the bounteous benefactions of an unfail¬ 
ing Providence. 

* * * 

Finally, if the Almighty did not send a Washington to give 
us liberty and establish freedom, a Lincoln to fashion more 
strongly the timbers of the new republic and a Roosevelt to 
point the way to yet surer foundations to national greatness, then 
we might as well “hang our harps on a willow tree” and whistle 
to keep up courage. 

* * * 

The following lines are worth much more than the time it 
takes to read them. The author is unknown to me: 

“Smile and the world smiles with you, 

Knock and you go it alone, 

For the cheerful grin will let you in 
Where the kicker is never known. 


32 


Writings of a Roadman 


Growl, and the way looks dreary; 

Laugh and the path looks bright, 

For a welcome smile brings sunshine, while 
A frown shuts out the light. 

Sigh, and you rake in nothing; 

Work and the prize is won, 

For the nervy man with backbone, can 
By nothing be outdone. 

Hustle and fortune awaits you; 

Shirk, and defeat is sure, 

For there’s no chance of deliverance 
For the chap who can’t endure. 

Sing, and the world’s harmonious; 

Grumble, and things go wrong, 

And all the time you are out of rhyme 
With the busy, hustling throng. 

Kick, and there’s trouble brewing; 

Whistle, and life is gay, 

And the world’s in tune like a day in June, 

And the clouds all melt away.” 

* * * 

We close with a little reference to a personal perplexity. 
Some of my readers may experience a similar feeling to that 
expressed in the lines: 

O why complain or murmer? 

The world is movin-g on, 

And everything will prosper 

When we are dead and gone. 

Yet one thing makes me worry, 

And points to future trouble, 

I see my beauty finish, 

For my chin is growing double. 


Pierre, S. D., May 2, 1910. 


Writings of a Roadman 


33 


THE IMPRESS OF RELIGIOUS TRAINING. 

Weather Notes—A Socialist in Trouble—Character in Faces— 

What Joy Means—The Square Deal Library—Promoting 
in Private and Public Schools. 

Editor Republican: 

In my last letter I mentioned the drouth that has continued 
over parts of Kansas for several months. In some communities 
the long dry spell is becoming a menance to the health and con¬ 
venience of the people. Because of the lack of moisture some of 
the fall wheat is not yet out of the ground and it seems now that 
a heavy snow would be a greater blessing than a rain. It would 
protect the young wheat from extremes of cold at a later time. 
I am told that the drouth has been so severe in parts of Okla¬ 
homa that business of all kinds has suffered a set back. It is not 
unreasonable to look for an immense downpour of rain or a 
precipitation of some sort before long, as extremes of wet and 
dry weather usually follow each other. 

* * * 

In a letter from Abilene two years ago I mentioned the fact 
that F. D. Warren, editor of The Appeal to Reason, a socialist 
paper published at Girard, Kansas, was offering a reward of one 
thousand dollars in gold to anyone who would kidnap ex-Governor 
Taylor of Kentucky and deliver him to the authorities of that 
state. His reasons/ for so doing were given at that time. 

For his act Mr. Warren was arrested and indicted, being 
charged with sending matter thru the mails that was “scurrilous, 
defamatory and threatening.” He was later convicted and sen¬ 
tenced to six months in prison and also to pay a fine of one 
thousand dollars. He took an appeal but the U. S. Circuit Court 
has just affirmed the decision. Mr. Warren now declares that he 
will take the case to the U. S. Supreme Court. 

* * * 

It is a generally accepted truth recognized by all students of 
psychology that most individuals, especially men, show in their 
demeanor and outward expressions the kind of business, the call¬ 
ing or profession to which they belong. Their peculiar religious 
beliefs mark the features and in most cases prove to be a true 
index to the general character. This is especially noticable in 
church life. It seems that the tenets of each society indelibly 




Writings of a Roadman 


stamp the devotee in such a manner that an ordinary student of 
human nature can easily guess to what particular “branch of the 
church” the individual belongs. 

The brother of the M. E. persuasion is the most decidedly 
marked. His demonstrative or emotional side is dominant, and 
withal, his face shines out thru the glowing expression of deep 
spiritual fervor. One may easily detect the modest saintliness 
and reserve of the Presbyterian, and the average Congregationalist 
is like unto him, except the latter is somewhat less aggressive in 
his methods of doing the work of the kingdom which he con¬ 
siders of immediate concern. 

The spiritual atmosphere of the Baptist congregation is sim¬ 
ilar to that of the Congregationalist, only the former seems a 
little firmer set in the forms and ceremonies to be observed. One 
often finds an intellectual chilliness in both that is entirely absent 
in the Methodist assembly. The U. B. people show a devotion 
wholly commendable and sedulously hold fast to the “truth” as 
they understand it. No one can be deceived in the rugged indi- 
divuality of the Lutheran, nor fail to admire the loyalty, if not the 
air of self sufficiency, of the Episcopal high churchman. The 
“Scientist” ordinarily seems content and satisfied, that he has at 
last discovered the spiritual panacea for all ills and his persis¬ 
tence in telling others makes one feel that he is altogether 
sincere. We are impressed with the deep seated reverence of 
the devo'ut Jew and often wonder at the seeming mixture of 
indifference and unfailing loyalty of the Catholic. 

Many of the humble followers of Paul’s teachings are readily 
known by their peculiar dress and florid aspect denoting piety 
and wholesome honesty, while few would be deceived by the 
average member of the great body of worshippers who desire to 
be known as simply “Christians” and of which the writer is one. 

* * * 

In speaking of church life I am constrained to mention a 
short talk on “Joy” given recently in Chicago by Rev. J. Wilbur 
Chapman. It is worth preserving. He says, “There is a vast 
difference between joy and happiness. 

“Happiness is that experience which comes to' us. It depends 
upon circumstances, surroundings, the condition of health, the 
state of our bank account, the spirit of our friends or the smiles 
of those abo'ut us. When men speak ill of us and not well, when 
they forsake us and we stand alone, when pain has the mastery 
over us and darkness settles about us, we are unhappy.” 


Writings of a Roadman 


35 

“Joy is a far better word. It belongs to the true Christian. 
It has nothing to do with surroundings and need have nothing to 
do with our circumstances. We have joy when our friends are 
few, when health has departed, when misfortune o’ertakes us, when 
foes beset us, all because our hope is in Him. He himself is our 
joy, and He never fails us.” 

* * * 

For ten years past 1 have been in close touch with many of 
the leading public and private schools of the Middle West. I 
have observed their methods of instruction and noted some 
differences in results. That the pupil ordinarily accomplishes 
more in the same length of time in the private school than he 
does in the public school, I have no doubt, and I have concluded 
there is one chief cause for this, namely, that in the private 
school the pupil is permitted to progress by subjects and not by 
grades. 

When school boards recognize that a pupil in a certain grade 
may be worth ten in geography and only five in history, or ten 
in reading and seven in arithmetic and promote him accordingly, 
the public school will begin to accomplish as much as. private 
institutions. Of course there should be uniform progress in alt 
branches so far as it is possible to make it so, but we should not 
forget that the capacities of the children are as varied as the 
degrees of comprehension in grown people. The talents of the 
child should be discovered and then carefully developed. 

* * * 

In recent years we have heard much of the “square deal,'’ 
and the words have a meaning that carries farther than the bounds 
or limitations of mere business transactions. The mother of 
Charles Spurgeon, the once famous London preacher expressed 
it in a talk to her son when he was but twelve years of age. She 
said to him, “My son, I have trained you in righteousness. Your 
father and I have set you right examples. We have shown you 
the way of peace. My son, if you do not live a godly life, 
I will stand before God in the day of judgment and bear witness 
against you.” 

A close observer of affairs has recently said that “men do not 
lack the rules to live by and the example of a perfect life. 'Siome 
lack desire to know the rules and of the life; others have the 
rules, know of the life, but lack courage to live them. The Bible 
is a fixed standard—a rule of conduct by which men should govern 
themselves in their relations to men. That standard is ,now an i 


36 


Writings of a Roadman 


for hundreds of years has been the guide of men whose names 
attract the attention of the world and call forth the best there v* 
in those who read 'heir lives or hear their names pronounced in 
great auditoriums.” 

“These rules of conduct are in the Bible because they are 
profitable, and not necessarily profitable because they are in the 
Bible. It is the “Square Deal Library”—the book of all books.” 

Daniel Webster o>nce said, “I pity the man who cannot find 
in it a rich supply of thought and rule of conduct.” 

Winfield, Kans., Dec. 6, 1910. 


MOTHER SHIPMAN’S PROPHECY. 

In the New State—A Wonder City—Testing the Wireless 
Telephone—Mother Shipman’s Prophecy— Speaker 
Cannon on Reclamation of Lands. 

It has been several years since I visited this city. From the 
first its growth has been phenomenal. On the day of the 
“opening” three thousand people staked their claims here. This 
was scarcely a score of years ago, and now they have a popula¬ 
tion of 60,000. On my first visit I was obliged to sleep in the 
office of a small hotel in company with five “cowboys” who came 
to attend the cattlemen’s convention. The hotel at which I am 
now staying would be a credit to any of our larger cities. This 
is a city of young men and the spirit of enterprise, the business 
activity and constant expansion mark it already as a young Chi¬ 
cago. 

The reports of appreciation in property values that seem to 
be substantial are almost unbelievable, while fabulous wealth has 
sprung up almost in a day. Street car lines already carry passen¬ 
gers seven miles out from the business center. Thousands of 
beautiful homes are to be seen on every hand. Schools, col¬ 
leges, churches and business enterprises have multiplied with 
amazing rapidity. As an example of development a friend told 
me of a tract of land not far from the original town site which 
he could have purchased at tme time for $1500 and which later 
became a city addition and sold for $200,000. 

The members of the Chamber of commerce are active in 
turning capital this way and in providing employment for an 
increasing population. A Chicago packing house company has 





Writings of a Roadman 


37 


just been given a bonus of $300,000 to locate a plant here and the 
entire sum was pledged at a public meeting last week in just one 
hoiur and six minutes. Verily, here is the place to experience the 
thrill and inspiration of the uplift, watch the surging of the 
cosmic, look upon the elucidation of the inevitable and behold the 
mysterious unfolding of the incomprehensible. 

A citizen of Enid has recently said, “Moses was ahead of his 
time. He looked for the promised land little realizing that it was 
destined to be discovered thousands of years afterwards down 
our way. Oklahoma is the land of milk and honey; the land of 
progress and development; the one definite place otl the map 
where you can start right.” There are special advantages here. 
I quote a part of an announcement from a city bank. “There are 
two features of vital interest to depositors. First, you get four 
per cent interest on your deposits. Second, the law of Oklahoma 
provides for your ample security. Four per cent with absolutely 
no risk is a good investment.” 

Here is a bit of news concerning the weather taken from a 
paper of January 28. “The last two days have been like spring 
weather; the grass is beginning to green up; many of the farmers 
have begun to plow their fields, preparing the ground to plant 
their crops. Everyone seems to be in good spirits and they think 
this is going to be a good crop year.” 

Many other cities of the new state are forging ahead. Eight 
years ago the spot where the town of Lawton now stands was a 
bare plain—the playground of the coyote by night and grazing 
country for thousands of cattle by day. Fort Sill is five miles 
distant. The Fort grounds are four miles long and one mile wide, 
and they have some mountains as background for cannon practice. 
I was told that our government expects to maintain a force of 
1600 soldiers at the Fort. The town was named in honor of Gen¬ 
eral Lawton who was stationed at Fort Sill during the Indian 
days, and who was treacherously shot by one of his own men in 
the Philippines a few years since. The name “Lawton” always 
interests the writer as he was brought up in Ohio near the home 
of a relative of General Lawton and distinctly recalls the Gener¬ 
al’s visit there twenty-five years ago.. 

* * * 

While at Ardmore your correspondent was permitted to look 
upon the wonderful workings of the wireless telephone. The 
instrument was the Collins patent and the tests were enough to 
convince the most skeptical. I put the receiver to my ear and 
distinctly heard the message sent by the lady operator. The voice 


38 


Writings of a Roadman 


was easily heard and a part of the message was, “This is a practi¬ 
cal demonstration of a wireless telephone/’ The demonstrator, 
a Mr. Highsmith, explained “how it worked” but I shall not tell 
it to my readers. The “results” interested me most. The com¬ 
ment of a local paper is as follows: “Thru the Collins instru¬ 
ments human speech has been conveyed clearly and distinctly 
over a distance of nearly one hundred miles and in a short time 
distances of 500 to 1000 miles will be bridged by wireless speech 
as easily as fifty miles is now. Such has been the history and 
development of all the epoch-making inventions of the last cen¬ 
tury, including steam, the telegraph and the telephone.” 

* * * 

Just here permit me to refer to Mother Shipman’s famous 
prophecy made in 1485 and first published in England. 
Here it is and my readers can see that the old lady only missed 
the guess in the last line. 

“Carriages without horses shall go, 

And accidents fill the world with woe. 

Around the world thought shall fly 
In the twinkling of an eye. 

Water shall yet more wonders do, 

Now strange, yet shall be true. 

The world up side down shall be, 

And gold be found at root of tree. 

Thru hills man shall ride, 

And no horse nor ass be at his side, 

Under the water man shall walk, 
iShall ride, shall *sleep, shall talk, 

In the air men shall be seen 
In white, in black, in green, 

Iron in the water shall float 
As easy as a wooden boat. 

Gold shall be found ’mid stone 
In a land that’s now unknown. 

Fire and water shall wonders do, 

England shall at last admit a Jew. 

And the world to an end shall come, 

In eighteen hundred eighty-one.” 

What marvelous things are coming to pass. Who can forsee 
the future or even approximate its possibilities? The forward 
march of scientific and “accidental” discoveries are almost, 
bewildering. A paper of this city says, “The development of the 
monorail lines may aid in the bringing about of rapid, comfortable 


Writings of a Roadman 


39 


transit by means of electricity. It is claimed for the gyroscope 
that it can be operated at a speed of ioo to 150 miles per hour 
without danger or discomfort. It is not an idle dream to expect 
that within another decade travelers will be whisked across the 
continent from New York to San Francisco at the rate of 150 
to 200 miles per hour, or that one may journey from Oklahoma 
City to New York City in less than twelve hours.” 

* * * 

While working in Kansas during the cold weather the follow¬ 
ing pathetic news item came to my notice: “When nature kills 
off prairie dogs it is a good thing of course, yet there was some¬ 
thing pathetic in the sight of the little dead fellows the morning 
after one of the zero weather spells around Coolidge. The ice¬ 
pack in the river caused the water to overflow the lowlands of the 
farms adjacent. The irrigation ditches got more water than they 
would carry. It spread over a number of prairie dog towns.” 

“These dogs are not built by nature to live under water and 
when the holes filled up a great number were drowned, but sev¬ 
eral thousand got out and attempted to escape. They were wet 
and there was snow on the ground and it was bitterly cold. The 
next morning passers-by saw a strange sight. The village was 
dotted with dogs sitting upright just as any western traveler has 
often seen them. But when stones were thrown at them they did 
not move. They had traveled but a little way in the snow, and 
there they were, upright with their feet drawn up as if to keep 
warm, but frozen stiff.” 

* * * 

In my last letter I spoke of the reclamation of our vast tracts 
of rich lowlands. On February 4 a committee of Arkansas citi¬ 
zens visited Washington in the interest of a great drainage pro¬ 
ject in that state. A Washington dispatch says: “Pledging himself 
to the support of the project for a survey of the six million acres 
of land in Arkansas, Speaker Cannon today depicted in glowing 
terms the possibilities of the reclaimed domains in that section.” 
He further said, “Today we have a population of 90,000,000 and I 
venture to say our population will grow to 400,000,000 in half the 
time that has expired since our forbears landed at Jamestown.” 
Oklahoma City, Okla., Feb. 16, 1910. 


AO 


Writings of a Roadman 


OPENING AN INDIAN RESERVATION. 


Near the Canada Line—The Standing Rock Indian Reservation 
Lands—Greyhounds and Jack Rabbits— 

Other Observations. 


Editor Republican: 

The “weather man” has thus far favored this northern 
country in an unusual manner—no frost to date and an auspi¬ 
cious “Fall opening” as the merchants say. A teacher of this 
city told me today that he had just plucked green corn from his 
garden and also gathered the season’s crop of muskmelons. In 
the hotel at which I am staying I saw samples of farm products, 
grown near here, that were exceptionally fine. The collection 
included three kinds or varities of corn, potatoes, pumpkins, 
squash, beets, onions and the various cereals and grasses that 
easily mature here. 

* * * 

In passing thru the Dakotas it was my fortune to be in 
Aberdeen on October 4, the first day of the period of registra¬ 
tion for the Chyenne River and Standing Rock Indian lands that 
are now being opened to actual settlers. Of course I registered. 
Nearly everybody does that can reach any of the points at which 
registering is done. Your readers will note from the reports in 
the great city papers how the registering progresses. It is prob¬ 
able that more than 100,000 people will take a chance at the 
drawing. I called at the office of Judge James W. Witten who 
is superintending the drawing and learned much concerning the 
opening of this new territory. 

In his pamphlet of general information, Judge Witten says, 
“These lands are about 80 to 170 miles west of Aberdeen, South 
Dakota. The Missouri river forms a part of their eastern 
boundary. The tract is about 90 miles long and varies in width 
from east to west, from 30 to 40 miles. About 2,019,680 acres 
are in .South Dakota, and about 217,360 in North Dakota, making 
a total of approximately 2,237,^40 acres. Of this area about 
124,314 acres are embraced in sections 16 and 36 which have been 
granted to the state for school purposes, and allotments have 
been made to about 6000 Indians. Other portions have been 
reserved for churches, schools and agency purposes, and other¬ 
wise disposed of, and there will perhaps be something over 
1,500,000 acres which will be subject to entry. 




Writings of a Roadman 


41 


“Commissioners appointed by the president are now at work 
classifying the lands into agricultural land of the first class, 
agricultural land of the second class, grazing lands, timber lands 
and mineral lands. The agricultural, grazing and timbe;- lands 
are being appraised at fifty cents to $6.00 per acre. The mineral 
lands cannot be entered under the homestead laws.” Regarding 
the Indian allotments, I give an interesting instance. A gentle¬ 
man told me that years ago a white man married an Indian 
woman and that they had reared a family of eleven children. As 
each child will be allotted a 160-acre farm, my readers can see 
that it will require nearly three sections of land to supply this 
one family. 

The registering will continue until October 23, and the draw¬ 
ing will begin at Aberdeen, South Dakota on October 26. I 
have talked with a number of men who are quite familiar with 
these reservations and they say there is much desirable land in 
the tract. One “old-timer” told me that many of the farms 
would easily be worth from twenty to thirty dollars per acre as 
soon as the claimants had “made good.” In the vicinity of 
Aberdeen I found one rather serious objection, namely, alkali 
water, or rather, water strongly tinctured with alkali. Yet I 
cannot say that the Indian lands would be handicapped by such 
a condition. Of course, such an obstacle may be overcome, and 
no one should be deterred from entering the new country on this 
account. 

* * * 

As I entered South Dakota at the little town of Elkton, I 
learned that an unusual “race meet” was in progress there. 
Enterprising sporting men had arranged for a great “chase” in 
which about fifty jack rabbits brought up from Kansas were to be 
set at liberty before numerous greyhounds. A fine stretch of 
enclosed prairie was provided and the contests of speed were 
to be strictly according to specified regulations. Near the “goal” 
or at the farthest point from the starting place a V-shaped brush 
fence was built. An opening in the center would admit the 
rabbit to safety if its pursuer was not fleetfooted enough to over¬ 
take the long-eared flyer before the end of the course was 
reached. An attendant would drop a door at the right moment 
which would prevent the dog from following the rabbit thru 
the opening. I did not witness the race, but a gentleman told 
me that he saw several rabbits released and not one was caught 
by the dogs. Two dogs would chase one rabbit. 


42 


Writings of a Roadman 


When the rioting occurred last year at Springfield, many 
colored people were obliged to flee from the city in order to save 
their lives. While at Watertown I was informed that quite a 
number of these negroes had settled in that community. I was 
further told that some had grown homesick and had returned to 
their former homes at Springfield. Moreover, the colored pop¬ 
ulation up in this country is almost a minus quantity. 

* * * 

In traveling by night from Fargo to Grand Forks it was a 
beautiful spectacle to see thousands of burning strawstacks along 
the way. This is in the great wheat belt of the northwest and 
farmers usually burn the straw as soon as convenient after 
threshing the grain. I note a difference in the two Dakotas—in 
the farming conditions. In South Dakota there are many actual 
settlers occupying land, while in North Dakota the farms are so 
large that the population is correspondingly sparse. Just today 
a teacher told me he was “land pcfor”—owning 1800 acres in 
North Dakota. To see real estate mei everywhere, with their 
automobiles , whirling prospective land purchasers over the 
country, leads one to suspect that some of these fellows are “land 
mad.” 

Grand Forks, North Dakota, October 8, 1909. 



Writings of a Roadman 


43 


AMBITIOUS MONKEYS. 

A New Airship—The Monkey Story—The Roadman and Human 
Sympathy—Comment on Civic Orders 
—King Solomon’s Temple. 

In a letter recently received from an old Eureka friend, he 
says, “I have been working on an airship for twenty years and 
now I have it. My plan of navigating the air is different from 
anything I have ever seen or heard of, and I can fly any time a 
bird can—in wind, rain, storm or sunshine—it makes no differ¬ 
ence. From what I can learn concerning all other heavier-than- 
air machines, mine will be far lighter compared to its lifting power 
than any other. The complete machine is as simple as a bird, 
for I have made everything to harmonize with nature. I am 
now having my invention protected thru Munn & Company 
at Washington.” 

The man whose lines I quote above is no dreamer or adven¬ 
turer. He believes in laboratory methods in reaching conclusions 
in physical science, and the result of his inventive skill will soon 
be given to the world in a practical demonstration. He has been 
in the business of “inventing” long enough to understand how 
necessary it is to amply protect his achievements by patent 
papers before it is too late. I will simply add that if this Illinois 
boy can “make good” his recent claims to the possibility of over¬ 
coming the difficulties of aerial flight, as he declares he can, his 
“future is not in the past” by any means. We may soon expect 
to look upon “sky-craft” galore. 

* * * 

We are so often obliged to notice the petty jealousies and 
the unbecoming spirit of envy manifested by people in all voca¬ 
tions and stations of life, that I am constrained to mention here 
the fable of the monkeys and the pole. But a few days since, 
while in conversation with an educator of much prominence (and 
less promise) he spoke out in a denunciatory fashion against 
another school man because as he avers the object of his attack 
had used unfair means in procuring a high position in the man¬ 
agement of Chicago schools. 

The monkey story, however, reveals this common weakness 
in human nature too often displayed by well-bred and cultured 
individuals. The monkeys of a certain “Zoo” had access to a 




44 


Writings of a Roadman 


small yard wherein stood a pole a dozen feet or more in height. 
Said pole was ever an inviting proposition for a “climb.” Each 
monkey was ambitious to be the first to reach the top. A lively 
scramble was the result and as but one monkey could sit on the 
top of the pole, the defeated ones were obliged to descend and 
grin or “make faces” at their more fortunate brother perched 
high above them. Moreover, the prominent position of the suc¬ 
cessful monkey made it more distinctly plain that he was simply 
a monkey, (after all his achievement) and nothing more. He 
was just an ordinary monkey like the others. His very elevation 
made this fact the more evident. Hence, the expressions of 
angry dissatisfaction, the increased turmoil and clamor among 
the other monkeys at the base of the pole. 

The story very aptly illustrates the present situation regard¬ 
ing the right of priority touching the discovery of the North pole. 
Nevertheless, it is a little unfortunate that the first successful 
“monkey”could not remain on the top of the pole sufficiently 
long to prove his title to the distinguished feat beyond all possi¬ 
bility of doubt. Verily, all humanity is prone to act the “monkey” 
even when a manly or womanly deportment would contribute 
infinitely more to our fund of happiness. 

* * * 

During his years of travel a roadman is often impressed by 
the little touches of human sympathy that cross his pathway. He 
sees many partings of near and dear friends and he often hears 
the last sad good bye spoken by parting loved ones. He occa¬ 
sionally witnesses the meeting of bereft hearts, perhaps the greet¬ 
ings of brothers and sisters, after long years of separation, when 
they have been called back to the old home community to be 
present at the burial of an aged father or mother. 

Sometimes it is a brother, many years absent, who returns 
with the lifeless body of his once beloved wife that her grave 
may be made in the family burying ground. After its rapid run 
from the far west, the long train slows steadily down and then 
stops at the little station on the prairie. The door of the bag¬ 
gage car is pushed open and the rough box containing the prec¬ 
ious casket is quietly lowered to the truck. The expectant rela¬ 
tives and neighbors draw tenderly near as the father in the com¬ 
pany of his weeping children leaves the train. He has scarcely 
alighted ere his hand grasps that of a faithful sister and they 
quietly embrace, each endeavoring to keep back pent-up tears 
and smother the sobs that, well up from broken hearts. 


Writings of a Roadman 


45 


Silent greetings and affectionate hand-clasps are soon over. 
The motherless children with eyes red from weeping quickly 
move with the little company towards the old home a few blocks 
distant. The news of the sudden passing of the mother in her 
western home had sped over the swift wire days before. The 
w r hole neighborhood soon knew that the once admired and beautiful 
young woman had passed away and that her body would be 
brought home for burial. It is the old, old story. Two hopeful 
young lives, two buoyant hearts, some months of love and court¬ 
ship, a dozen years of happy married life, a peaceful home, the 
joyous prattle of little children and the song of the morning. 
The husband’s courage and the wife’s devotion had won and they 
were planning to again visit the old home, but it is all over, the 
grim Reaper garnered the “sheaf” all too soon and the chapter 
is closed. The roadman from the car window catches a last 
glimpse of the sad procession, brushes away the tears that hinder 
his vision and continues to read the morning paper while the train 
speeds on. 

* * * 

It requires but an ordinary observer to note that our country 
is practically made up of “orders,” civic and religious. For the 
most part these organizations are fraternal in their nature and in 
nearly all, the meetings are carried on in “secret” or behind closed 
doors. The attitude of some people regarding these orders is 
inconsistent and unreasonable. They condemn “secrecy” in 
unsparing terms, yet they are compelled to admit that every 
individual has some sacred or personal heart “secrets” that no 
one but himself and his God know of, or indeed can understand. 
Hence the railing accusations brought against any order or 
society on the sole ground of “secrecy” are ill-advised to say the 
least. 

The writer believes that it is always wise to take the world 
as we find it, and turn circumstances and conditions to the best 
advantage possible. Many well-intentioned people are densely 
ignorant touching the origin and growth of the great civic orders 
of the world. From a legitimate and authentic source I quote a 
paragraph relating to the order that is universally regarded as 
the “father” of every similar organization. 

“The Masonic order began in the church. It was started as 
a church institution. Its ritual was framed by ministers of the 
church. It was found amongst those who were members of the 
church, and were devoted to the building of temples for the wor- 


46 


Writings of a Roadman 


ship of God, the great cathedrals in the Middle Ages. The 
Masonic order was in the church and of the church. 

“The church has always been an educational institution. 
Colleges originated in the church. It is not long ago that col¬ 
leges were not known outside or apart from the churches. They 
were looked upon in the nature of religious institutions or 
adjuncts to them. Also the bonds of fraternity, known to civili¬ 
zation before the time of the Reformation, were in the churches. 
There is where we find the brotherhoods, or fraternities of the 
clergy and laity, from the earliest times—so that within the 
church there has always been religion, education and fraternity. 

“In the Masonic lodge we have the same thing exhibited. 
The teachings are distinctly religious, especially within the past 
three hundred years, and the Masonic institution is directly an 
educational institution. There is nothing in the world that goes 
over and over the same lesson night after night as does the 
Masonic order. It is distinctly educational.” Here is an inter¬ 
esting description of King Solomon’s throne taken from an 
ancient manuscript: 

“The sides of the throne were of pure gold, and the feet of 
it were of emeralds and pearls. On each side and back of the 
seven steps were delineated orchards full of trees, the branches of 
which were precious stones., representing ripe and unripe fruit. 
On the top of the trees, fowls of most beautiful plumage were 
represented. These were hollow, and made to utter sounds of a 
thousand melodious tones. 

“On the first step were vines with bunches of grapes made up 
of purple, violet, green and crimson, representing fruits in various 
stages of ripening. On the second step were two lions of pure 
gold and life size, fearful to behold. The construction of the 
throne was such that when Solomon placed his feet on the first 
step, all the birds spread their wings and made a fluttering noise. 
Touching the second step, the lions extended their paws, and on 
reaching the third step the whole assembly repeated the name of 
Deity. 

“When he arrived at the fourth step, voices were heard 
addressing him thus, “Son of David, be grateful for the blessings 
the Almighty hath bestowed upon thee;” the same being repeated 
at the fifth step. At the sixth step all the children sang praises. 
On the arrival at the seventh step, the whole throne became in 
motion, continuing until he had taken his seat, when all the birds, 
lions and animals by secret springs discharged a shower of the 


Writings of a Roadman 


47 


most precious perfume on the King, when two of the birds 
descended and placed a crown of gold upon his head. Before 
the throne was a column of burnished gold, on top of which was 
a golden dove with a roll of bound silver in its beak. On this 
roll was written the Psalms of David, and the dove having pre¬ 
sented the roll to the King, he read a portion of it to the audience. 
Such was the throne of S'olomon.” 


PLEA FOR THE QUAIL. 

Agricultural Possibilities—“Brown the Bee and Bird Man”— 
The Farmers’ Friend—Daniel Webster’s Tribute to 
Mothers—An Ungrateful Husband. 

Editor Republican: 

During my travels over the country I have often thought 
of its agricultural possibilities and of the immense areas yet 
undeveloped. It is said that the Mississippi river drains one 
million square miles, and if its chief tributaries be taken into 
account, the expanse of territory that finds an overflow thru 
its channel would easily be doubled. 

Within the domain covered by these various rivers the un¬ 
claimed and reclaimable lands are something enormous. It is 
altogether probable that were these vast tracts brought under cul¬ 
tivation, the cereal products alone would be sufficient each year to 
supply the needs of our entire population. We have only “touched 
the edges” when the productiveness; of our farmable land is con¬ 
sidered. Millions of acres are yielding but a fraction of what 
they are capable, and millions more, (the unreclaimed tracts—the 
rich lowlands) are now regarded as “waste” lands. 

In a recent address and while contemplating our agriculture 
future, James J. Hill the railway magnate, said, “The value of our 
farm products this year is $8,000,000,000. It might as well have 
been $16,000,000,000, or even $24,000,000,000. We haven’t begun 
to till our soil. We don’t know how. We have merely 
scratched the surface.” Of our coal supply Mr. Hill says, “We 
are using 500,000,000 tons of coal annually. At that rate the 
estimated total supply of the United States will last 4000 years, 
so we need not disturb ourselves.” 





48 


Writings of a Roadman 


While visiting a college three years ago at Rochester, Indi¬ 
ana, it was my good fortune to hear a lecture on “The Quail” by 
Mr. Brown the famous “Bee and Bird Man.” The talk was 
eminently practical and the speaker’s reasons for protecting the 
quail from further destruction by sporting men, or rather, sports¬ 
man, were so convincing and reasonable that the question to the 
writer since that time has passed beyond the exigencies of debate. 
The natural propensities of the “nimrod” are unusually strong in 
the individual responsible for these lines, and to think of sacri¬ 
ficing the royal sport of “knocking down quail” from the safe end 
of a shotgun required a most purposeful resolution. But the 
determination shall be observed for an indefinite period. 

Within a few months after I met Mr. Brown, the season for 
killing quail opened. As usual I purchased my hunting license, 
procured a permit to hunt on certain tracts near our city and on 
my first trip I chanced to flush a bevy of the much-sought game 
birds. As they arose from cover in twos and threes with a “buzz” 
—the signal under such conditions that has for thirty-five years 
set my nerves a-tingling for a “shot,” I raised my gun, brought 
it to bear on the feathered targets, but, remembering Mr. Brown’s 
unanswerable statements, I could not and did not pull the trigger. 

I know that some of my readers will exclaim, “How foolish.” 
But the end is not yet. Last year that rich woman, Helen Gould 
the philanthropist, heard Mr. Brown lecture on “Bees and Birds.” 
She was deeply impressed. She sought an interview with him 
and urged him to devote his life to the end of defending and 
protecting nature’s feathered gifts to man. Mr. Brown is a 
humble, uneducated (no scholastic training) self-made man, but 
he knows the habits and value of birds and also the nature of 
destructive insects. 

After Mr. Brown returned to his home in Indiana, Miss Gould 
sent for him—wrote him a letter asking for another conference. 
He went back to New York and met Miss Gould. She said, “I 
want to buy you.” He was puzzled to know her meaning. She 
further explained by saying. “I want to pay for your time so you 
can be free to go over all our great country—to the children 
of the schools especially and tell the story of the “Bees and Birds.” 
Mr. Brown took one night to “think it over” before returning an 
answer. He said within himself, “I shall make my price so high 
that she will not want me.” He says he did not fancy the notion 
of belonging to two women. When he next met Mis? Gould he told 
her his conclusion. She quickly said, “You are mine.” And so 


Writings of a Roadman 


49 


“Brown the Bee and Bird Man” is now going about the country 
and among the schools and in his own inimitable and interesting 
way is telling the story of nature as he learned it fresh from 
Nature’s own heart—the inexhaustible storehouse of wisdom. 

From the December number of the “Oologist,” published at 
Lacon, I quote the following: “The common quail is increasing 
over all the West and would increase much more rapidly were 
it not for the incessant warfare waged against these very benefi¬ 
cial birds by hunters and alleged' sportsmen. Every quail is 
worth five dollars per annum to the general public because of its 
energy in the destruction of insects. They should be taken from 
the game list entirely and protected for good.” 

* * * 

When we speak of “Nation builders,” too often we think of 
statesmen like those who framed our own constitution and of 
others who mould empires by conquest. This tribute to 
“Mothers” from Daniel Webster is worth preserving. “If we 
draw within the circle of our contemplation the mothers of a civil¬ 
ized nation, what do we see? We behold so many artificers 
working, not on frail and perishable matter, but on the immortal 
mind, molding and fashioning beings who are to exist forever. 
We applaud the artist whose skill and genius present the mimic 
man upon the canvas; we admire and celebrate the sculptor who 
works out that same image in enduring marble; but how insignifi- 
cent are these achievements, tho the highest and fairest in all 
the development of art, in comparison with the great vocation of 
human mothers. They work not upon the canvas that shall 
perish, or the marble that shall crumble into dust, but upon the 
mind, upon spirit, which is to last forever, and which is to bear 
for good or evil thruout its duration, the impress of a mother’s 
plastic hand.” 

In contrast to the above how ungrateful was the Missouri 
husband who inscribed the following on his wife’s tombstone: 

“Here lies my wife Samantha Proctor, 

She ketched a cold but wouldn’t doctor, 

She couldn’t stay, so had to go, 

Praise God from whom all blessings flow.” 


Emporia, Kansas, Feb. 17, 1910. 


50 


Writings of a Roadman 


SPUNK ON THE FREE LIST. 


In the North Country—Trout Fishing and Fish Stories—Remarks 
on Old Swimming Hole—Spunk on the Free List—Hard 
on Henpecked Husbands—Gentile and Jew. 


Editor Republican: 

The harvesting of a bumper wheat and oats crop is now going 
on in this upper country. The corn does not seem to promise 
much of a yield, but I understand that it is grown chiefly for 
provender in the form of fodder to be used during the long 
winters. The hay crop appears to be good, potatoes and garden 
“truck” are grown in abundance, fields white with buckwheat 
blossoms show up here and there, and over much of the territory 
which I have covered I noticed great patches of that dreaded 
plant, the “Canada thistle.” The state imposes a heavy penalty 
on any property owner who permits the pest to go to seed, yet 
it seems to spring up with such persistency that its ultimate eradi¬ 
cation appears hopeless. 

In traveling northward from Oshkosh one soon finds himself 
in the region where the evergreen and the deciduous forest trees 
grow side by side. Of course, the great pine lands present no 
such magnificent tree growth as they did forty years ago. These 
have long since passed by the saw-mill route or have been 
destroyed by devastating forest fires. Nevertheless, there are 
some fine isolated specimens of the pine still standing and it makes 
one feel a touch of primeval rest and loneliness to look upon an 
occasional cluster of somber and stately pines as they stand unmo¬ 
lested after the lapse of many years. 

* * * 

In getting into the country north and west of the city from 
which I write, one is soon made aware that he is in the land of 
that most prized of all the finny tribes, the “brook trout.” Small 
streams and lakes abound. Northern Wisconsin is dotted with 
thousands of small lakes. Many of them are annually visited by 
people who can afford for a few weeks of the torrid season farther 
south to get away from the daily grind of the shop or the office 
and rest mind and body in the solitudes of this northern country. 
It seems to me that the Wisdom which doeth all things well has 
designedly made ample provision up here for the thousands upon 
thousands, who, when they can do so, will each summer seek these 
“rest spots” for relaxation and re-creation. 




Writings of a Roadman 


51 


A remnant of the early Indian tribes yet remains. While 
the government has made “reservations” for their advantage, I 
was told that the Menominees had surrendered their “tribal 
rights,” preferring the benefits of American citizenship. The 
white population seems to be decidedly marked by a strain of 
New England ancestry, and the foreign element is already so 
Americanized that one could scarcely find a more desirable place 
to live so far as agreeable and accommodating neighbors are con¬ 
cerned. 

One hears some big “fish stories,” for the lakes abound in 
game fish of all kinds. However, I failed to find a single case 
of a “sprained back,” the result of violent efforts to land a 
“whopper.” Nevertheless, the reports on these cases of physical 
injury under such conditions would likely'' never get beyond the 
narrow walls of the doctor’s office, who prescribed for the person 
thus afflicted. The average fisherman realizes that the patience 
and forbearance of a long-suffering public have their limitations 
and he governs himself accordingly. I will add that some of the 
places up this way, marked as towns on the map, are strictly 
“out of sight”—the station house and a lonely saloon being the 
only evidence of civilization. 

* * * 

Just here I will mention one of those delightfully enjoyable 
pastimes, especially for the boys, namely, the daily bathing in 
some sequestered, pebble-bottomed “swimming hole.” In talk¬ 
ing with a lad of fourteen who has free access to a pleasure spot 
of this sort, I said, “How many times each week do you go to 
the swimming hole?” He looked surprised and quickly replied, 
“O gee, Mister, us boys go in swimmin’ twice each day.” 

I noted the keen delight of the lad as he anticipated the com¬ 
ing pleasure of another “plunge” within a few hours, and I longed 
that I might for one brief day control the wealth of some “bloated 
bondholder” that I might for the benefit of the youth of my 
home neighborhood build a swimming pool or natatorium, where 
they could when necessary neutralize the effects of a scorching 
summer sun—find a cool, clean retreat and enjoy a common 
blessing that God intended should be the heritage and privilege 
of every boy. The traditional delights of a “swimming hole” in 
old Walnut Creek are fast passing to the realms of the imagina¬ 
tion, and what with the restrictions of Olio’s Protective League, 
the annoyance of “crawdaddies” and little “bullheads,” the places 
where a boy can “swim” in and around old Woodford’s county 
seat, will soon be a fading memory. O that I were powerful 


52 Writings of a Roadman 

enough to extend a little enjoyable, health-giving philanthropy to 
the young and old, and especially to the boys of my own com¬ 
munity. 

* * * 

Together with nearly ninety millions of other people in this 
country, I have been interested in the ultimate results of our 
tariff legislation. In looking over the recently published sched¬ 
ules, I noticed that congress has placed “Spunk” (whatever that 
may mean) on the “free list.” This is well. Considering the 
recent actions of some of our national law makers, it is evident 
that more “spunk” is sadly needed. It might be well to furnish 
'Senators Cummins and LaFollette each with a “Patent Spunk 
Injector” and, when congress next convenes, let them work on 
certain of our western senators for a little time. If the results 
were encouraging they could then try the merits of the treatment 
on other eastern notables who have been considered “impervious” 
heretofore. 

Of course the quality of the “Spunk” will be a determining 
factor in reaching satisfactory results and we suggest that Uncle 
Sam accept nothing but the pure article—mild, but firm and 
effective, rejecting all “bluffs” or goods of mere pretension at all 
of our ports. The announcement that “spunk” shall come in 
duty free hereafter may work a hardship and some bodily discom¬ 
fort to “henpecked” husbands generally, for good housewives are 
ever vigilant in appropriating commodities of this sort, and 
especially so when the article does not cost too much. To shield 
myself from dire consequences, (should any of my neighbors 
suffer), I wish it distinctly understood that I am not responsible 
for the use to which any good wife may apply her supply of 
“Spunk.” I have simply informed my readers that it is now on 
the “free list.” 

As a closing item I will say that during the late “torrid” 
spell of weather that visited most parts of our country, It saw 
two men in different cities wearing heavy overcoats. One was 
a very old gentleman, a Gentile, whose spark of life was burning 
low and whose tottering form needed the warmth of the coat to 
keep the remaining vitality at a living point. The other was a 
man in middle life, a good specimen of the typical enterprising 
Jew and whose secretive demeanor and closely clad body led 
one to conjecture that he probably had tucked away under the 
heavy folds of his outer garment some sacred and ancient secrets 
brought over from the far-off land of Palestine. 

Green Bay, Wisconsin, August io, 1909. 


Writings of a Roadman 


53 


PRESIDENT TAFT AND GOVERNOR JOHNSON. 

Seeing the President—Comment on the Life of the Late 
Governor Johnson—Minnesota’s Abraham Lincoln. 

Editor Republican: 

President William Howard Taft and your Uncle George 
reached the famous Mill City on Saturday morning, Sept. 18. The 
people’s welcome was altogether befitting such an auspicious time 
and the public applause was commensurate with the gravity and 
importance of the occasion. Soon after his arrival the President 
went “autoing” to St. Paul, while your uncle, being somewhat 
weary, went to bed. Of course, so long as a great magnet like 
the President was roundabout to attract and entertain the multi¬ 
tudes there was no particular need of anxiety on my part. Had 
it not been for the serious condition of the state’s executive, Gov¬ 
ernor Johnson, everything would have been lovely. 

On the following Lord’s day morning the President and his 
party attended divine services at the Westminister Presbyterian 
church of which Dr. J. E. Bushnell is pastor. As might be expect¬ 
ed a great crowd was present. The writer occupied a seat in the 
gallery and for more than one hour looked down upon the unu¬ 
sual display of fine millinery and shining pates of the elderly 
brethren in the front pews. The President’s bald spot on the 
crown of his head was a cynosure for many eyes during the entire 
period of the services. The subject of the sermon was, “The 
Divine Objective,” the text being taken from Matt. 20:28, “Even 
as the Son of man came not to be ministered unto, but to min¬ 
ister, and to give his life a ransom for many.” 

I venture the guess that not during his long journey over the 
various states will the President listen to a more interesting or 
helpful discourse. When the offering for missions was taken I 
noticed the President feeling for his contribution, but he was 
purposely overlooked and passed by. In speaking of the incident 
later at the LaFayette Club he said, “I had my money in my 
fingers but no one would pass the plate. They evidently thought 
I was only a poor president and needed the money.” He also 
expressed great pleasure over Dr. Bushnell’s sermon. 

* * * 

The whole country has already learned of the untimely death 






Writings of a Roadman 


cf Governor Johnson. While he was highly respected and hon¬ 
ored by all who knew him, a large number of people of his own 
state almost idolized this plain citizen of the Lincolnian type who 
had risen from a humble pioneer cottage to the highest office of 
the state. His civic and social virtues were many and he deserves 
full credit for the worthy manner in which he filled the high 
position to which he was thrice called. 

A history of the governors of Minnesota speaks of him as 
iollows: “Born in a frontier cabin, his eyes eariy familiar with 

trappers, hunters and Indians, John A. Johnson grew with the 
young state, a part and parcel of the commonwealth itself. He is 
distinctly, in his individuality of character and in all his environ¬ 
ment, a full blooded Minnesotan. The extraordinary scenes of 
his early youth must have made a vivid impression on his plastic 
mind. He saw the tomahawk and rifle gleam in a terrible har¬ 
vest, as neighbors and friends fell victims to the red wave of 
destruction. He witnessed the devouring swarms of grasshop¬ 
pers that for three years devastated the valley of Minnesota. He 
beheld companies of union soldiers, with glittering bayonets, 
marching southward to the fields of internecine strife. Slowly 
he saw the country rise to prosperity from the terrible effects of 
the barbaric and civil war, and as it grew, he grew, the two 
advancing together.” 

His early life can be epitomized in a single line of Gray’s 
immortal Elegy, “The short and simple annals of the poor.” His 
school days ended when other boys had but fairly begun. Because 
of humble circumstances he was compelled to- earn bread and 
contribute to the support of the family. A little incident of his 
early life is in o r der here. Not long since the Governor in talking 
with a group of friends was asked when he experienced the proud¬ 
est moment of his life—“was it when you were elected governor, 
or first mentioned for the presidency?” said one. “None of them,” 
replied the Governor. “It was when I had my salary raised while 
a drug clerk and I took the money home to my mother, I poured 
the money in her lap and told her she would not have to work 
any more. That, gentleman, was the proudest moment of my 
life.” 

I was in St. Paul, the capital, while his body was lying in 
state—I was one of the thousands that passed thru the great 
rotunda, and I can bear testimony to the deep expressions of 
genuine sorrow which marked the faces of men and women in all 
ranks of life. Perhaps the passing of no public man in recent 


Writings of a Roadman 


years has caused such keen regrets, especially among the people 
of this north country, as has the death of John Albert Johnson. 

Of the great procession that filed thru the capitol while 
the body was lying in state, a local paper says: “All thru 
the morning hours there was no diminuation in the throngs. The 
young, the old, the rich, the poor, the capitalist in broadcloth, 
women by the thousands, politicians, the workman with his kit 
of tools, business men and clerks, postmen, professional men, 
street car employees, porters, messenger boys, school children, 
mechanics, bankers, servants, and shop folk in endless proces¬ 
sion passed thru the rotunda. No one said anything. Moth¬ 
ers came thru holding children by the hand, sometimes lifting 
them up to see the Governor’s face. Nearly all the school 
children carried their books, but never a boy forgot to remove his 
hat. Many of the older people struggled to keep back their 
tears, and not all were successful.” 

Even when the people are saddened under the anxious sus¬ 
pense which usually precedes the going of great and good men, 
there may happen that which is provokingly amusing. I here 
record such an instance. On Saturday evening of the week pre¬ 
ceding the death of Governor Johnson, a late “extra” edition of 
one of the Minneapolis papers was issued. In company with 
a number cvf other guests, I was passing the time in front of our 
hotel, when two newsboys (one on either side of the street) came 
shouting and crying out the sale of the extra. It seemed that 
each was trying to outdo the other in the way of making the 
most noise. As they drew near, one shouted so vociferously 
and continuously that his companion on the opposite side of the 
street was evidently more than ordinarily impressed, for he 
ceased shouting, ran half way across the street, and, calling to the 
other newsboy, he excitedly exclaimed, “Say, Jim, is he dead ” 

Again one is sometimes affronted by the inexcusable stupidity 

of certain people. While leaving St. Paul aboard a street car and as 
we passed by the statehouse, where thousands of people were 
still assembled, I remarked to a lean specimen of humanity sitting 
rear me, “Great crowds of people here today.” “Y-e-s,” he de¬ 
murely drawled, “What is going on here, anyhow?” And this 
after the papers for days had been filled with reports concerning 
Governor Johnson’s illness and death. 

The tender lines of James Whitco<mb Riley seem especially 
appropriate here. 


56 


Writings of a Roadman 


“I cannot say, and will not say, 

That he is dead. He is just away. 

With a cheery smile and a wave of the hand, 

He has wandered into an unknown land, 

And left us dreaming how very fair 
It needs must be, since he lingers there. 

And you—O you, who the wildest yearn 
For the old-time step and the glad return, 

Think of him faring on, as dear 

In the love of There as in the love of here. 

Think of him still as the same; I say: 

He is not dead; he is just away.” 

We may truly say of John Albert Johnson what John Adams 
said of Washington, “He was a wise, a good and a great man.” 
Minneapolis, Minn., September 25, 1909. 


♦ 



Writings of a Roadman 


57 


IRONICAL REFERENCE TO BALDHEADS. 

The Big Dam at Keokuk—Some Remarks on Baldheads—Why! 

Lawyers Do Not Quote Scripture—The Commission 
Form of Government—“Opportunity” Revised. 

In one of my former letters from Keokuk, Iowa, dated April 
20, 1906, I said, “A syndicate of enterprising citizens has about 
consummated a deal with congress to dam the waters of the 
Mississippi at this point and thus secure water power for manu¬ 
facturing and other purposes, and because of the probable success 
of the move, everything in a business way is full of expectancy. 
The dam is to be fifty feet high and will back the water for some¬ 
thing like forty miles. When the work is completed this city 
will rapidly become a great metropolis.” 

The question of promoting and maturing the plans for con¬ 
structing the dam proved to be a tedious one and actual work 
only began about six months agoi. The preliminary part of the 
job is now well under way, and until recently, I was told, several 
hundred men had been at work building the cofferdams for the* 
power house and making necessary excavations on the west 
shore of the river. 

If is a gigantic undertaking. The cost will probably aggre¬ 
gate more than $25,000,000 and the task is to be completed by 
1913. The power generated will be greater than that at Niagara 
Falls, and already this potential power is being contracted for by 
roundabout towns, including the city of St. Louis. A trolley line 
of railroad is being projected from Quincy to Nauvoo, Illinois, the 
power to come from Keokuk. It is stated that the enormous 
amount of 200,000 horse power will be possible thru this dam 
project, and if so, it needs no prophet to foretell the influence it 
will exert in developing the physical resources and industrial 
possibilities of the central Mississippi valley. 

* * * 

By common consent and by legislative act, the public drink¬ 
ing cup is being condemned and banished from use. This is well. 
Now if some law was enacted or invoked to compel all barbers 
to thoroly sterilize their razors, combs and brushes as each 
customer is served, it would prevent many a man from prema¬ 
turely losing his hair. Nevertheless, so far as this preventive 
would reach, little good would be accomplished unless the law 




58 


Writings of a Roadman 

regulating barber shops would also apply to our homes, boarding 
houses, trains, hotels, and all other places where a common ser¬ 
vice from day to day is rendered. 

The men are not alone the ones who suffer. Women as well 
are losers. And we all know that a woman s wealth of hair is 
her crown of glory, if not her diadem of beauty. The writer 
would be pleased if all of them had a sufficient supply—enough to 
satisfy, so that they would not need to pad so much with rats 
and other similar substitutes for the genuine article. 

However, with a man it is different. He is the protector of 
the home, the provider, the ‘‘house-band”—the husband as we 
say. He is supposed to be out hustling—in the thick of the con¬ 
flict, fighting the battles of life, and he does not need much hair. 
He is obliged to be more or less in the dust of the shop, the fac¬ 
tory and the street; many times amid the oil and grease of the 
mill, and often in the dust-filled caverns of the stifling mine. 

'Scarcely anywhere is he called upon to display his hair. He 
toils all day and because of numerous family duties is frequently 
compelled to work at night. Under these conditions, may we 
not truthfully say that as evidence of good judgment and as a 
manifestation of sanitary sense as well, the less hair the better. 

My readers will readily recall how Absalom, that rash and 
rebellious young man, a model of physical beauty, on account of 
his long hair, got caught in the branches of a tree and became an 
easy prey to his enemies. Verily, for a man, it is not only un¬ 
sanitary but sometimes a dangerous thing to wear hair. I was 
about to say that, in view of these arguments, it is almost dis¬ 
graceful for a fellow, fifty or more years of age, to be going around 
with a whisk-broom face or a Fiiji Island top-not on his head. 
It shows that he has not been doing much. Of course, not all 
men are designedly guilty of this offense. Thru a long line of 
heredity, some have acquired so much hair that it is no easy mat¬ 
ter to lose it. Beautiful tresses and many of them for women, 
but for the busy man, again we say, the less hair the better. 

* * * 

In a conversation with a' prominent Illinois lawyer some¬ 
time ago, I asked him if it were not a creditable thing to do and 
why it was that so few in his profession ever supported their con¬ 
tentions before a court or a jury by Scripture passages. He 
answered that it was altogether a worthy, creditable and often an 
appropriate thing to cite some forceful lesson in Scripture 
—to bring up some parallel case to clinch the claims 
that are being set before the jury. Apologetically he 


Writings of a Roadman 


59 


explained that such references are few for two reasons, 
namely, the man addressing the jury does not feel exactly “at 
home” quoting the Bible, and further, that the twelve men impan¬ 
eled usually know so little scripture that the lesson would likely be 
lost. 

The claim that juries are chiefly to blame for the falling away 
of this old-time custom, which was so- creditably handled in the* 
days of our fathers, seems plausible and true when we remember 
that nowdays, epecially in the large cities, juries are often made 
up from a class of men who are ignorant and who read little— 
possibly never open the lids of the Old Book. Our jury system 
is not only faulty but “bum.” Who wonders that a Chicago jury 
so often renders the wrong verdict? 

* * * 

On the evening of May 2, Mayor James R. Hanna, of Des 
Moines, addressed the Real Estate Board of this city on “The 
Commission Form of Government.” Among other things he said, 
“Cities need business, not statesmanship. Ninety-five per cent 
of the problems of a city are plain business propositions and 
should be dealt with as such. Public opinion isn’t bounded by 
ward lines. A city should be operated like a bank—it’s a busi¬ 
ness. The recall has a steadying effect on the commissioners- 
and keeps them in line.” 

He further says, “I have visited every large city from Seattle 
to Ft. Wayne and a hundred smaller ones and they all complain 
of graft. We have tried the old form for 125 years and failed. 
We have copied the national form of government which is bad 
for cities. We used to believe that the city was a little state, 
but in this we were wrong.” 

“The Commission plan fixes the responsibility on one man and 
there isn’t any chance to shift it. The plan has directness. There 
is no secret dodging of duty and the people know to whom to go. 
Does it work? It has worked to the satisfaction of the people 
of Des Moines. More public work has been done. More miles 
of paving have been put down and more streets have been 
repaired and kept clean than under the old rule. And best of all, 
we are paying as we go—for the first time in fifty years. The 
tax levy has been reduced 26 per cent and we are spending twice 
as much for street cleaning as formerly. We have a better police 
system, better lights and we are getting more for our money.” 

Judging from Mayor Hanna’s testimony, anyone ought to see 
that the plan prevents waste and brings results. Furthermore, 


60 


Writings of a Roadman 


the liquor interests everywhere and also the saloon keepers, gamb¬ 
ling gentry and resorts of immorality oppose commission rule. 
This is another reason why decent citizens should support it. 

* * * 

Several, years ago the late John J. Ingalls, of Kansas, wrote 
famously of “Opportunity”—a little poem that has been widely 
quoted. 

We here give a few stanzas from Walter Malone, of Memphis, 
Tennessee, believing they are superior in sentiment to the lines of 
Senator Ingalls. 

“They do me wrong who say I come no more 
When once I knock and fail to find you in; 

For every day I stand outside your door, 

And bid you wake and rise to fight and win. 

Wait not for precious chances passed away, 

Weep not for Golden Ages on the wane; 

Each night I burn the records of the day; 

At sunrise every soul is born again. 

Laugh like a boy at splendors that have sped, 

To vanished joys be blind and deaf and dumb; 

My judgments seal the dead past with its dead, 

But never find a moment yet to come. 

Though deep in mire, wring not your hands and weep. 

I lend my arm to all who say “I can;” 

No shame-faced outcast ever sank so deep 
But yet might rise and be again a man. 

Dost thou behold thy lost youth all aghast? 

Dost reel from righteous retribution’s blow? 

Then turn from blotted archives of the past, 

And find the future’s pages white as snow. 

Art thou a mourner? Rouse thee from thy spell; 

Art thou a sinner? Sins may be forgiven; 

Each morning gives thee wings to flee from Hell, 

Each night a star to guide thy feet to Heaven.” 

Kansas City, Mo., May 4, 1911. 


Writings of a Roadman 


61 


WOMAN SUFFRAGE. 


Kansas Zephyrs and Prohibition—A Prophecy and Its Fulfill¬ 
ment—Beer and Buttermilk—Marks of the New Life 
—What the Bible Contains—A Tidal Wave on 
a Street Car—Our Soldier Dead at 
Fort Scott. 


For nearly a fortnight past the average Kansan, together with 
the “stranger within the gates/’ has been sweltering in a summer 
heat that not only “takes the starch out of a standing collar” but 
effectually tames the most unconquerable spirit. A temperature 
of 104 degrees in the shade may be good for the growing corn 
crop, but it certainly has a withering effect on the suffering 
humanity of this region. If it were not for the proverbial “Kan¬ 
sas zephyr” so much in evidence even at this season of the year, 
the unusual torrid temperature would be almost unbearable. 

But Kansas is “doing things” and setting a good example to 
surrounding states, especially in handling her economic questions. 
A late number of the Omaha News says: “During the past year 
forty-eight of one hundred five Kansas counties, with a popula¬ 
tion of 430,274, did not send a single prisoner to the state peni¬ 
tentiary. Fifty-seven of the one hundred five counties had not a 
single pauper Eighty-seven of the one hundred five did not 
send a single insane patient to an institution. Kansas’ death rate 
is the lowest in the world, 71.2 in 1000 persons. The state 
boasts of the lowest percentage of illiteracy. Kansas’ bank de¬ 
posits have increased from $70,000,000 to $190,000,000, and all this 
has happened under ten years of prohibition.” 

* * * 

In a paper given before the National convention of Christian 
churches in the city of Omaha, October, 1902, about ten years ago, 
the writer said, “The early decades of the new century must wit¬ 
ness the culmination of two great organized purposes, namely, 
the overthrow of the legalized liquor power, and the complete 
enfranchisement of woman in all the states. The general recog¬ 
nition of the principle of prohibition and the granting of political 
suffrage to woman will be no more than the legitimate and logi¬ 
cal result of a government ‘of the people, for the people and by the 




62 


Writings of a Roadman 


people,’ the sure and certain end to which the progress of this 
great republic is now rapidly approaching.” 

It is interesting to note how much of these “two great organ¬ 
ized purposes has been actually accomplished within the first 
decade of the new century. Today the liquor power is under 
condemnation in every part of our land and were it not for the 
“judicial” support it is constantly receiving thru a friendly 
federal administration, the crime of dealing in intoxicating 
beverages would soon meet with the swift, summary justice, it 
so richly deserves, Another score of years will see its finish. 

The cause of woman suffrage is moving steadily forward. 
“Votes for women” has become almost a world cry. Already we 
have equal suffrage in six states—Utah, Idaho, Wyoming, Colo¬ 
rado, Washington and California. 

The Woman’s Journal published at Boston is authority for 
the statement that twenty-five states, namely, Delaware, New 
Jersey, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Vermont, New York, 
Ohio, Kentucky, Michigan, Louisiana, Mississippi, Illinois, Wis¬ 
consin, Minnesota, Iowa, Oklahoma, Kansas, Nebraska, South 
Dakota, North Dakota, New Mexico, Arizona, Montana and Ore¬ 
gon have suffrage in part, while campaigns for 1912 are on in the 
states of Ohio, Kansas, Wisconsin and possible campaigns are 
pending in Nevada and New Hampshire. The states of Texas, 
Nevada, Arkansas, Missouri, Indiana, Tennessee, Alabama, Flor¬ 
ida, Georgia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Virginia, West 
Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, and Maine grant 
little or no suffrage of any kind. 

(Since the above was written, the states of Kansas, Arizona, 
and O'regon have granted full suffrage to women.) 

When the equal suffrage question is ultimately settled, legis¬ 
lation will come easy in the final adjustment of other important 
economic matters, and the significent and momentous readjust¬ 
ment that is now taking place may result in the early solution 
of both the legalized liquor curse and the political rights of 
woman. The outlook for universal suffrage was never so bright 
as at the present moment and the ordinary observer can readily 
see that the glad song of victory will soon be heard from Maine 
to California and from the Lakes to the Gulf. 

* * * 

During the summer season the questions of wholesome food 
and harmless drinks are on the minds of a great many people. 
One’s health can be safeguarded best thru a rigid adherence to a 


Writings of a Roadman 


63 


simple diet. Some people invite sickness because of what they 
eat and drink and consume in their bodies. An intemperate and 
injurious habit may befoul the body and weaken the organs of 
elimination so that disease soon follows and often death ensues. 
Nevertheless, the defilement of body and spirit are not accom¬ 
plished in the same manner. And Jesus said, “Do not ye under¬ 
stand, that whatsoever entereth in at the mouth goeth into the 
belly, and is cast out into the draught? But those things which 
proceed out of the mouth come forth from the heart; and they defile 
the man. For out of the heart proceed evil thoughts, murders, 
adulteries, fornications, thefts, false witness, blasphemies. These 
are the things which defile a man.” 

One of the best summer drinks that we have thus far dis¬ 
covered is buttermilk. Not the manufactured sort, but good old- 
fashioned country buttermilk with a sufficient “tang” in it to make 
one feel that the quality of lactic acid is all right. Such a drink 
is not only nutritious but it is safe, for it is easily digested. This 
is so because the fat is eliminated, thereby shortening the process 
of assimilation. The bacilli resulting thru generous draughts of 
buttermilk, the doctors say, are of the most healthful kind, sup¬ 
plying the small intestines with a colony of microbes from which 
no harmful consequences can possibly result. And so it goes: 
the fellow who consumes beer, and the man who drinks butter¬ 
milk are walking in widely divergent paths. The first soon 
weakens the normal blood condition, subjecting himself to “sun¬ 
stroke” and becoming an easy prey to disease, while the last 
keeps himself cool by fencing against the disintegration of cellu¬ 
lar tissue. Moreover, to consume heat-producing foods in the 
summer time is very much like building a fire in your furnace in 
July or August. Why not use more buttermilk and consume 
less beer and beefsteak? 


* * * 

Morals and manners are almost the sum total in social and 
religious life. However, genuine Christianity embraces much 
more. President Hyde of Bowdoin College says, “In the home, 
it is kindness; in business, it is honesty; in society, it is courtesy; 
in work, it is thoroness and in play, it is fairness;. toward the 
unfortunate, it is pity; toward the fortunate, it is congratulation; 
toward the wicked, it is resistence; toward the weak, it is help; 
toward the penitent, it is forgiveness; toward God, it is reverence 
and love; and it starts with the new birth.” 

As a companion thought to the above, we add, an interesting 


£4 Writings of a Roadman 

definition of the Bible. The author’s name we do not know. It 
says, “This book contains the mind of God, the state of man, the 
way of salvation, doom of sinners, and happiness of believers. 
Its doctrine is holy, its'precepts are binding, its histories are true 
and its decisions are immutable. Read it to be wise, believe it to 
be safe, and practice it to be holy. It contains light to direct you, 
food to support you, and comfort to cheer you. It is the traveler’s 
map, the pilgrim’s staff, the pilot’s compass, the soldier’s sword and 
the Christian’s charter. Here paradise is restored, heaven opened 
and the gates of hell disclosed. The Christ is its grand subject, 
our good its design, and the glory of God its end. It should fill 
the memory, rule the heart and guide the feet. Read it slowly, 
frequently, prayerfully. It is a mine of wealth, a paradise of 
glory and a river of pleasure. It is given to you in life, will be 
opened at the Judgment, and be remembered forever. It involves 
the highest responsibility, rewards the greatest labor, and con¬ 
demns all who trifle with its holy contents.” 

* * * 

In leaving Chicago aboard a crowded car on the elevated 
road some time ago, we noticed a well dressed gentleman stagger 
into the aisle just as the car left the station. There were no 
vacant seats. The fellow was exceedingly “top-heavy” but very 
polite, especially to the ladies who sat near him. As the train 
suddenly started, he tried to grab a strap but missed it and fell 
sprawling over the laps and legs of several women passengers. 
He laboriously arose, slowly picked up his hat, got hold of a 
strap, looking solemnly about, (a look of abused intelligence on 
his face) and stammeringly said, “Ex-ex-cuse m-m-me, 1-1-ladies. 
I-I-did-didn’t ex-pect th-th-the tidal wave.” Everybody laughed, 
and I thought, “What fools these mortals be.” 

* * * 

In passing thru the city of Fort Scott, Kansas, recently 
I looked from the car window upon the beautiful National ceme¬ 
tery and the long rows of little white headstones that mark the 
last resting place of many of our soldier dead. Old Glory was 
floating high from a flagstaff—a silent sentinel as it were keeping 
watch above the sleeping brave who on southern battle fields gave 
up their lives defending their country’s emblem. The scene 
called to mind the patriotic lines of Sir Walter Scott which I 
learned when a boy at school: 


Writings of a Roadman 


65 


“Soldier, rest! thy warfare o’er, 

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; 
Dream of battled fields no more, 

Days of danger, nights of waking. 

In our isle’s enchanted hall, 

Hands unseen thy couch are strewing. 

Fairy strains of music fall, 

Every sense in slumber dewing. 

Soldier, rest! thy warfare o’er, 

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, 
Dream of fighting fields no more; 

Morn of toil, nor night of waking. 

No rude sound shall reach thine ear, 

Armor’s clang, or war-steed champing, 
Trump nor pibroch summon here, 

Mustering clan, or squadron tramping. 

Yet the lark’s shrill fife may come, 

At daybreak from the fallow, 

And the bittern sound his drum, 

Booming from the sedgy shallow. 

Ruder sounds shall none be near, 

Guards nor warders challenge here; 

Here’s no war-steeds’s neigh and champing, 
Shouting clans, or squadrons stamping. 

iSoldier, rest! thy day is done, 

Think not of the rising sun, 

For at dawning to assail ye, 

Here no bugles sound reveille.” 


Manhattan, Kansas, August i, 1912. 


66 


Writings of a Roadman 


GENERAL COXEY AND BILLY SUNDAY. 


Back to Sunny Kansas—General Coxey—Business and Bankers 
—“Billy” Sunday and His Critics. 

It is certainly a great business convenience, after the work 
of a day in a chilling and freezing atmosphere, to retire for the 
night in a comfortable Pullman berth and get up the following 
morning in a land with a mild and almost balmy temperature. 
If distance is so successfully overcome now and wearisome travel 
turned into a delight, what may we not hope for as our fancy 
leads us to anticipate the possibilities to be realized when we can 
travel in a gilded airship and ride upon the wings of the wind? 
In the transmission of thought, space is already annihilated, the 
once wild dream of Jules Verne has long since been outrun by 
actual accomplishment, and what may we not expect in this, the 
golden age of the world’s progress? 

* * * 

In a former letter I mentioned the incident of meeting Mr. 
Coxey in Pittsburg. He is an interesting character, an ap¬ 
proachable gentleman and in conversation will soon dispel any 
notion that one may entertain concerning the political vagaries 
usually associated with such a unique personality in public affairs. 
In speaking of our present “panic,” he said that it was the second 
to occur in fourteen years and declared if Congress would enact 
a law covering the recommendations he has made in his advocacy 
of public improvements and the issuing of non-interesting bearing 
bonds, together with the “initiative and referendum” feature, 
that it would be impossible for two per cent (the bankers) of our 
population to bring on a period of financial depression at any 
time. He declares that while we as a nation have solved the 
question of “production,” we have not settled the matter of “dis¬ 
tribution.” In a land that abounds with the wealth of farm and 
factory as this country does at present, and with thousands of 
her people face to face with perplexing financial difficulties—to 
say nothing of the dread of a possibly worse condition—it seems 
that something is radically wrong. 

* * * 

A few weeks since I talked with a railroad man in Indiana 
■who told me that within a given period one year ago 32,000 cars 
passed thru a certain shipping point and that nearly all were 
“loaded.” During the corresponding time of this year fewer than 




Writings of a Roadman 


67 


20,000 were handled and more than one-half were empty. He 
said the chief cause for the falling away in the business was that 
building contracts had been cut off and that shipments in all 
kinds of building material had been light accordingly. L have 
read something less than a dozen articles by noted writers and 
prominent public men, each giving his opinion as to the cause of 
the present depression in business. It is my opinion that the 
prime cause for the trouble may be summed up in one word, 
namely, “gambling,”—qualifying the word by prefixing the words 
“Wall Street”—wall street gambling—New York bankers taking 
chances on securities that proved to be worthless, but the word 
“gambling” covers it all. 

* * * 

Many times have I been constrained to go out of my way in 
order to hear a sermon by the well known evangelist, “Billy” 
Sunday. I have visited many of the cities and towns in which 
he has conducted religious campaigns, both before and after he 
had been there. In short I have seen these towns “before and 
after taking,” as it were. It is evident that Evangelist Sunday 
is called of God to do a great work. 

I have read some of his sermons and numerous reports of 
his meetings. I have seen the complexion of a large city changed 
from that of shameless and unblushing sin to one of decency and 
good order, and all because of the work he has done. It is plain 
to be seen that he is a man with a mission. He does not com¬ 
promise with the shocking sins of our time, nor temporize in 
dealing with questions of life and death. He evidently sees a 
vast difference between a genuinely converted man and one who 
wears the livery of heaven in order to move in respectable society. 

He undoubtedly believes there ought to be a difference in the 
thought and conduct of a professor and a non-professor of reli¬ 
gion. He often upbraids the “church member,” because he sees 
too little difference in the lives of the two classes. The man of 
the church is too often guilty of doing unbecoming things. The 
man of the world is careless in his habits—he is profane, he uses 
tobacco and imbibes strong drink. He ought to find an example 
for higher living in his neighbor whose name is on the church 
register, but alas, too often he does not. The “unpurged” Chris¬ 
tian is not an abstainer, neither has he forsaken the folly of 
pursuing filthy habits. He is taught that “charity covers a mul¬ 
titude of sins,” and so by liberal contributions to the missionary 
box and a generous support of the “cause,” he is led to believe 
that the mortgage on his title to the Kingdom will be lifted and 


68 


Writings of a Roadman 


his felicities in the world to come made sure and certain. But 
Mr. Sunday endeavors to point a better way, to uncover his 
hypocrisy, and to magnify the importance of being truly con¬ 
verted. 

I have heard Mr. Sunday criticized by just two classes of 
individuals, namely, the fellow whose inordinate avarice for 
“graft” makes him jealous of the liberal and free-will offerings that 
grateful and redeemed men and an appreciative public contribute 
to the support of the evangelist and his band of workers, and the 
hypercritical, disgruntled, self-centered, dogmatical, faith-destroy¬ 
ing, quasi “skypilot,” whose yearly stipend is usually granted 
thru the indulgent patience of a humiliated and long-suffering 
people. I can readily understand why a man who has no spirit¬ 
ual discernment would raise objections to Mr. Sunday’s preaching, 
but how any minister of the Gospel can find in his heart a cause 
for railing against such a timely and worthy work, is beyond my 
ability to fathom. 

I close with an oft quoted rule by John Wesley, and we 
should remember in doing good we need not sacrifice truth nor 
compromise its power. 

“Do all the good you can, 

By all the means you can, 

In all the ways you can, 

In all the places you can, 

At all the times you can, 

To all the people you can, 

As long as ever you can.” 

Kansas City, Mo., January 20, 1908. 


Writings of a Roadman 


69 


DECORATION DAY MEMORIES. 


A Tribute to the Boys in Blue—Bob Burdette on Citizenship—The 
Mission of Comets—A Worthwhile Motto. 


This is a day set apart to remember the “Boys of *6i.” Of 
course the soldiers of our recent war are not forgotten, but we 
are especially mindful of the men who gave the best they had to 
preserve and perpetuate the union. What stirring scenes the 
occasion recalls and how we ought honor both the living and the 
dead who composed that mighty phalanx which stood between 
the misguided hosts of rebellion and an unbroken union of loyal 
states. 

To the men who yet remain to celebrate the day with us, we 
accord every honor of patriotic devotion. Of those who sleep 
beneath the heavy sod in the sunny' southland, or rest with other 
departed friends in the north, we exclaim with the poet: 

“Done are the toils and wearisome marches, 

Finished the summons of bugle and drum, 

Softly the calm, azure sky overarches, 

Shelt’ring a land where rebellion is dumb. 

Dark were the days of the country’s derangement, 

Sad were the hours when the conflict was raging. 

But through the gloom of fraternal estrangement, 

God sent His light—our sorrow assuaging. 

O'er the expanse of our mighty dominions, 

Sweeping away to the uttermost parts, 

Peace, the white angel, on untiring pinions, 

Bringeth her message of joy to our hearts. 

Out of the blood of a conflict fraternal, 

Out of the dust and the sadness of death, 

Burst into blossoms of glory eternal, 

Flowers that sweetened the world with their breath.. 

Flowers of charity, peace and devotion, 

Bloom in the hearts that are empty of strife; 

Love that is boundless and deep as the ocean, 

Leaps into beauty and fullness of life. 




70 


Writings of a Roadman 


So with the singing of paeans and chorals, 

And with the flag waving high in the sun, 

Place on the graves of our heroes the laurels, 

Which their unfaltering valor has won.” 

Perhaps the immortal Longfellow in his poem, “The Truce 
of God,” expresses more tenderly the sentiment of a true and 
loyal heart than can be found in any similar tribute to our 
“Soldier dead.” It is altogether worth the reader’s time to 
peruse: 


“Sleep, comrades, sleep and rest 

On the field of Grounded Arms, 

Where foes no more molest, 

Nor sentry’s shock alarms. 

Ye have slept on the ground before, 

And started to your feet 

At the cannon’s sudden roar, 

Or the drum’s redoubling beat. 

But in this camp of Death 

No sound your slumbers breaks; 

Here is no fevered breath, 

No wound that bleeds and aches. 

All is repose and peace, 

Untrampled lies the sod; 

The shouts of battle cease, 

It is the “Truce of God.” 

Rest, comrades, rest and sleep, 

The thoughts of man shall be 

As sentinels to keep, 

Your rest from danger free. 

Your silent tents of green, 

We deck with fragrant flowers; 

Yours has the suffering been, 

The memory shall be ours.” 

* * * 

Robert J. Burdette has described in such a masterful fashion 
the transition of a man from a rampant anarchist to that of a 


Writings of a Roadman 


71 


proud and peaceful citizen that it seems in order here to quote 
the same: 

“When a wild anarchist buys a town lot he subsides into a 
moderate socialist. When he builds a house on it, he fades into 
a conservative citizen. When he brings a wife into it and trans¬ 
forms the house into a home, he is apt to join the Republican or 
Democrat party, and he begins to question the wisdom of 
strikes. When the baby is born, he opens an account at the 
bank. And when the boy is fourteen years old, he begins the 
very serious study of the question of prohibition as contrasted 
with an open town with the lid off.” 

* * * 

A few days since I met a gentleman from the South and he 
told me of the pathetic superstition of many of the colored peo¬ 
ple, and how certain heartless fellows would urge the ignorant 
black people to get some “comet oil” and rub their bodies with it 
so that they might be immune from any disasterous effects of the 
celestial visitor. 

I have wondered if comets are not sent to distribute “cosmic 
dust” thruout the earth in order to quicken the intelligence and 
revivify dormant humanity. It might not be wholly amiss for 
my. readers to “take stock” and see if their mental acuteness has 
not, to a marked degree, been rejuvenated, resuscitated or at least 
sharpened somewhat within the past month. 

This cosmic dust permeating every crevice and corner of the 
earth would certainly find a lodgment in that most vital of all 
organisms, the brain of man. Who knows but we may soon 
achieve wonders never dreamed of before. Already the papers 
announce the remarkable flight of an aeroplane from Albany to 
New York City. Why not expect greater things? The unearth¬ 
ing of political corruption in Illinois seems to point to revela¬ 
tions most startling. Perhaps the day of reckoning is nearly 
here. 

* * * 

Here is a helpful motto and if practiced but a little bit from 
day to day by each man and woman, it would soon transform 
this crooked old world into a paradise of perpetual peace. “I 
shall pass' thru this world but once. Any good therefore that I 
can do or any kindness that I can show any human being, let me 
do it now. Let me not defer or neglect it, for I shall not pass 
this way again.” 

Omaha, Neb., May 30. 1910. 


72 


Writings of a Roadman 


BRYAN AND ROOSEVELT. 

The Weather Contrasted—Something About Mr. Bryan—The 
Language of the Stars. 


It was a delightful change to jump from the torrid temper¬ 
ature of southern Illinois to the cool and bracing atmosphere of 
this beautiful city. However, this upper country did not alto¬ 
gether escape the terrible wave of heat that passed over the land 
a few weeks ago. A friend who was in Toronto at the time 
told me that he went up there to enjoy his vacation, but never 
suffered from heat so much in his life. I mention this that it 
may carry a little consolation to those of my readers who have 
thus far been denied the luxury of a summer outing in a northern 
climate. I recently talked with a gentleman from North Dakota 
and he said that it had been extremely warm up there this sum¬ 
mer. But these immense floods of sunshine mature large crops 
and are a blessing to everybody. 

* * * 

Since the record-breaking reception given Mr. Bryan down 
East and his matchless speech of “acceptance,” it has been inter¬ 
esting to note the drift of comment roundabout the lobbies of 
the leading hotels. One thing is noticeable. The country is 
full of careful and observing readers and no public event worth 
considering escapes attention. It seems certain that if the peo¬ 
ple choose a leader like Mr. Bryan, they will never need to “look 
back” to find him. As a “torch bearer of righteousness,” he is 
certainly much in advance of that following which generally lines 
up under the banner of Democracy. Mr. Bryan evidently intends 
that the word “Democrat” shall not become a misnomer if he can 
help it. 

* * * 

Who knows but the important pages of history are recorded 
in the invisible archives of the Eternal ere the chief actors appear - 
behind the footlights on life’s busy stage. A few weeks after 
President Roosevelt was inaugurated the first time, I read his 
brief horoscope as given by a noted eastern astrologer. A few 
of the more striking points I recall. It said that Mr. Roosevelt 
would prove himself a second George Washington; that he would 
spend two terms in the White House; that he would fearlessly 
grapple with great public questions and overcome every obstacle; 




Writings of a Roadman 


73 


that he would make three remarkable public deliverances. One 
in the South, one in the West and one in the great valley. In the 
light of subsequent events. I leave my readers to draw their own 
conclusions. We know that the President did make a great 
speech more than three years ago at Charleston, S. C. It won 
the confidence and the hearts of the southern people and was 
distinctly his initial message to the people of the South. 

We also know that Mr. Roosevelt set forth in a most forceful 
and exhaustive manner the policy of his party on the Philippine 
question in a public address at San Francisco sometime before 
the close of his first term of office. It remains to be seen just 
where in the Mississippi valley he will make the promised third 
address. Recent press dispatches announce that there will 
shortly be a soldiers’ “review” at Indianapolis, and that President 
Roosevelt has promised to be there. (The third great speech 
was made at Indianapolis.) 

* * * 

We shall soon see if the language of the stars does reach 
down to the earth and if the children of men do move in obedience 
to an invisible and eternal law. 

Milwaukee, Wis., Sept. 3, 1906. 



74 


Writings of a Roadman 


PROGRESSIVE SUNFLOWER STATE. 

Out in Kansas—A Great State—How to Know a Friend—A Train. 
Incident—A World Worthwhile. 


Editor Republican: 

My trip to Kansas at this time was chiefly to attend the ses¬ 
sions of the Missouri Valley Commercial Teachers’ Association 
which was held in this city last week. The organization is com¬ 
posed of teachers and school managers from the public and 
private commercial schools. Four special addresses were deliv¬ 
ered by President Homer H. .Seerley of the State Normal School 
at Cedar Falls, Iowa. Mr. Seerley is one of the foremost edu¬ 
cators of the day, and his lectures were pointed, timely, able and 
delivered in a forceful and interesting manner. 

He is from the Hoosier state but has, for a long term of 
3'ears, been identified with the schools of Iowa. He has been a 
prime factor in the rapid educational development of the state, 
and is the father of much advanced legislation along educational 
lines. The institution at Cedar Falls has the distinction of being 
the only school of the kind in the state, and the policy on which 
it is thus maintained has grown out of the extended administra¬ 
tion of President Seerley. 

* * * 

There has been little rainfall in some parts of Kansas for 
several months past. Nevertheless, the annual yield of crops 
according to government reports is something enormous. The 
state has 10,250 miles of railroads, and for the season just clos¬ 
ing produced 64,000,000 bushels of wheat, 83,000,000 bushels of 
corn, while the butter sales amounted to 9,500.000 pounds, the 
poultry aggregated 10,800,000 pounds and the total farm products, 
including live stock, reached a valuation of $975,000,000. 

Without question Kansas is one of the great states of the 
union. Politically, the state is insurgent-republican—standing 
foT progress in all lines, especially in civic righteousness. Gov¬ 
ernor Stubbs is an able exponent of the doctrine of public rights 
and his administration from the first has been noted for the 
vigorous stand he has made against monopoly and advantages 
to special interests. He is much admired at home and greatly 
respected abroad. 

* * * 

During the past I have written so much about Kansas 
that I forbear to make extensive notes at this time. In my first 




Writings of a Roadman 


75 


volume of “Writings of a Roadman” some of the most interesting 
chapters (so my friends say) were written from this state. This 
leads me to say that thru the publishing of that book I learned a 
great deal concerning true friendship. All of the two hundred 
copies issued are now in the hands of purchasers, or those whom 
I had reason to believe would appreciate a copy from the author. 
Most of those receiving the book as a humble token of friend¬ 
ship and good will acknowledged the same in a becoming manner 
—many with more than the usual spirit of appreciation, while 
others whom I had long regarded as genuine friends have led 
me to think they were only shamming. 

“The friends thou hast and their adoption tried, grapple them 
to thy heart with hooks of steel.” 

* * * 

Little incidents that often break up the monotony of travel 
are always welcomed providing they are not serious enough to 
disturb the peace of the day. Some weeks ago while watching 
a crowd at a railway station in my own state, I noticed an elderly 
lady of “homespun” appearance, and accompanied by two sturdy 
grand children, board the train. She carried a bulging market 
basket in one hand and a slatted box containing an old white hen 
in the other. Evidently she had been obliged to make haste in 
order to reach the station on time, for she was much out of breath 
and sorely tried in spirit. 

The children preceded her down the aisle of the car but hes¬ 
itated about getting into a seat. Her load was heavy and the 
aisle much too narrow for so much luggage. The basket would 
hit a seat and retard progress, then the box containing the hen 
would bump some passenger on the opposite side. The chil¬ 
dren halted as the train was starting, when the old lady looking 
straight ahead and with flushed face, sternly shouted to the chil¬ 
dren, “Climb into a seat there. Get in quick or I’ll lick both of 
you right here.” The passengers smiled and the children quickly 
obeyed. Then, as the box and the basket hit the seats again, 
she reached a vacant one and as she sat down she sighed, “O 
Lord, I’m about all in.” The children wide-eyed and happy 
were watching the passing panorama from the car window, while 
their aged guardian lowly muttered as she pushed her basket 
under the seat, “O Lord, I’m about all in.” I will add that the 
lady was not of the “feeble” sort but was handling too much 
freight for her own convenience and that of the passengers. 


76 


Writings of a Roadman 


“One who claims that he knows about it, 
Tells me the earth is a veil of sin, 

But I and the bees and the flowers doubt it, 
And think it’s a world worth living in.” 

Topeka, Kansas, December io, 1910. 


QUAKER WOMEN AND PRESIDENT LINCOLN. 

Seeing Gov. Woodrow Wilson—A Nightshirt Parade—Railroad 
News Item—The True Meaning of Bar—Ironical 
Advertising—President Lincoln and 
the Quaker Women. 


If one was to judge Nebraska, by the last few days, it would 
easily pass for one of the hottest and windiest regions on earth. 
So many interesting events, however, are taking place here that 
possibly the weather man is endeavoring to outdo those who are 
rivaling his claims to public notice. 

Of course this city is famously known as the home of the 
great commoner, William Jennings Bryan, and this together with 
the visit of Gov. Woodrow Wilson at this time may have oper¬ 
ated to the end of giving us some unusual things—even in the 
matter of weather. Nevertheless, while Governor Wilson is 
taking a peep at “Fairview” and learning something of the people 
of Lincoln, Mr. Bryan is making speeches down in New Jersey. 

Mr. Wilson was banqueted today at the Lincoln hotel by the 
city’s Commercial Club, a non-partisan organization, at which 
time the writer had the pleasure of meeting the man who is now 
attracting so much attention as a presidential possibility. His 
speech on this occasion was well received, and in his talk to the 
University students on the campus this afternoon he said: 

“I realize that you are interested in me because of my posi¬ 
tion in politics. The college man who has the temerity to break 
into politics is naturally a curiosity.” 

“However, I did not go into politics; I was pulled in. For 
twenty years I had been preaching the doctrine that every man 
owed it to his country to take part, to his full ability, in affairs 
of government. Consequently, when they came to me I had to 
take my medicine. It was a case of put up or shut up. I know 
that you are not here to listen to a speech, but rather merely to 
see a human curiosity. Therefore, I thank you.” 





Writings of a Roadman 


77 


In speaking of the students of Nebraska University, it is in 
order here to' say that the young men of this institution annually 
observe on this date what the local papers are pleased to call 
“The Nightshirt Parade,” and I must say that it was observed 
with a vengeance on this occasion. Seeing a regular “Fourth of 
July” crowd gathering on the streets in the evening, I inquired of 
a young fellow who looked as if he knew, what the excitement 
was all about. He smiled and then said, “This is the time for the 
annual shirt-tail parade by the University students.” 

Everyone speaking of the event designated it by the word 
used by this young man and not the one used in the headlines of 
the newspapers the following morning. Just why and how such 
an observance became a part of the University life, I do not know, 
but as an eyewitness I can testify that perhaps four hundred col¬ 
lege students, dressed for the occasion, marched thru the streets 
of the city, keeping up an incessant yelling, intermingled with 
defiant shouts and popular college songs. 

They marched into the hotel where Governor Wilson was 
stopping. The guests looked on in amazement and wondered 
at such a wild demonstration of unchallenged anarchy. Here were 
hundreds of young men, who for the time being, seemed under 
a mad spell of irrepressible insanity, following their leaders and 
doing everything in their power to impress the onlooker with 
the thought that such things are a part of University life. It 
was, indeed, a “shirt-tail parade” and I was told that some of the 
local merchants annually invited this “mob of students” to visit 
their places of business—using the same as an attraction to the 
general public. To be sure, there was a semblance of “orderly 
confusion” all along the line, but the “trail” was marked by scat¬ 
tered bits of cloth that were once a part of the elegant makeups 
in which these young men attire themselves when they go to 
church. 

* * * 

Thirty or more years ago when our railroads were compelled 
by legislatures to reduce their passenger fare to three cents a 
mile, they complained bitterly, claiming that such laws were con¬ 
fiscatory. But thru all these years the railroad business has 
prospered. Traffic of all kinds has increased enormously. When 
the fare was reduced to two cents a mile a few years ago, the 
railroads stubbornly fought the enactment of every law pertain¬ 
ing to such a change. * 

The government and state reports show that, with few ex¬ 
ceptions, the railroads of our country are annually yielding good 


78 


Writings of a Roadman 


returns—even on millions of watered stock. And this must be 
so, for I have seen just recently a magnificent' administrative 
building that is being erected by the Santa Fe road at Topeka, 
Kansas, and a still greater building of the same kind that is being 
built at Omaha by the Union Pacific road. These fine structures 
must cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. 

* * * 

The city of Lincoln has had no saloons for some time past, 
but under the Slocum law, I was told that the city would license 
several saloons within the next few weeks. Nebraska would have 
been a “dry” state long ago had it not been for the influence ex¬ 
erted by outside liquor interests. There is much truth in the 
following lines as to what “Bar” means. The saloon bar in most 
instances is 


“A bar to heaven, a door to hell— 

Whoever named it, named it well! 

A bar to manliness and wealth, 

A door to want and broken health, 

A bar to honor, pride and fame, 

A door to sin and grief and shame; 

A bar to hope, a bar to prayer, 

A door to darkness and despair. 

A bar to honored, useful life, 

A door to brawling, senseless strife; 

A bar to all that’s true and brave, 

A door to every drunkard’s grave. 

A bar to joy that home imparts, 

A door to tears and aching hearts; 

A bar to heaven, a door to hell— 

Whoever named it, named it well!” 

* * * 

In a letter to The Republican some months ago, I mentioned 
some of the difficulties the farmer experiences in finding suitable 
help for the farm. Here is an advertisement of a western farmer 
who offers unusual inducements. 

“Wanted:—Harvest hands. Hired girl, blonde and pleasant. 
Phonograph music during meals. Pie three times a day. Six 
lumps of sugar to each cup of coffee. Hammocks, leather divans, 
cosy corners, feather beds. Rising hour, io a. m. Organ con¬ 
cert every evening. Free cigars after dinner.” 


Writings of a Roadman 


79 


As we approach ‘‘Memorial Day/’ the mind naturally reverts 
to the days of the great Civil war—the most noted conflict of the 
kind in all history. During those burdensome years, no man 
had a heavier load to bear than President Lincoln. 

While in the midst of the war, with quarreling generals to 
reconcile, with perplexing cabinet questions to adjust, with en¬ 
tangling foreign matters to consider, with fanatical disturbers of 
all sorts to manage, with numerous importunities for executive 
clemency to harass him, with growing disorders in loyal states to 
abate, with conditions that overwhelm, and darkening shadows 
all around him. President Lincoln was one day visited by a small 
company of devout Quaker women. They waited patiently in 
the busy reception room. When the press of duties permitted, 
Mr. Lincoln received them. As he arose and stood in their pres¬ 
ence—a tall, angular figure with sad but impressive countenance, 
the burdens of a nation resting on his heart, one of them, speak¬ 
ing for the little company, said, “Mr. Lincoln, we know that thee 
has many cares of mind and a heavy load to carry in these 
troublous times, and so we have come to tell thee how we sympa¬ 
thize with thee and how much we desire to encourage thee.” 

It was the simple,sincere and heartfelt expression of loyalty and 
faith, spoken with a tenderness that the great soul of the man 
could easily understand. He bowed courteously, acknowledged 
their appreciation of his position and then stood reflectively silent 
as they passed from his presence, while the light in his face 
showed that some of the load had been lifted. 

Lincoln, Neb., May 26, 1911. 


80 


Writings of a Roadman 


CURSE OF THE BLACK BOTTLE. 


Minnesota Weather—The Osage Nation—A Unique Inscription 
—Notes on the Liquor Traffic—What Comes 
from a Bushel of Corn. 


Editor Republican: 

If the memories of the recent horrible railway wreck in Iowa 
and the unusual political excitement at Washington could be for¬ 
gotten, the good people of this upper country would have more 
time to enjoy this delightful spring weather The press reports 
from Africa have become so common and the general public is 
so well convinced that Theodore Roosevelt is able to take care of 
himself that little solicitude is longer felt because of our ex-presi¬ 
dent’s absence abroad. 

* * * 

My last communication was written from some point in 
Oklahoma and I find on my journal a few notes touching the 
vast Osage Nation country thru which I passed in leaving the 
new state. It seems that most of the timber of the Nation is yet 
undisturbed, but it is of little value and it is chiefly found along 
the streams—a rather rough and unattractive tho somewhat pic¬ 
turesque country. I saw some fine grazing lands and several 
“bunches” of cattle—steers being fattened or fed for the market. 

I was told that the largest herd, found some distance north 
of Pawhuska, the capital, contained about seven thousand, in all 
representing a large number of dollars. The Osage country is 
situated in the northeastern part of the state and does not seem 
to support many red men, as I saw but three Indians in all the 
day’s trip thru the strip. No doubt this country will be rapidly 
developed in every way. 

* * * 
t 

As I started north from Arkansas City to Wichita over the 
Santa Fe line, I saw oh one of the rocky hillsides an unusual 
quotation from the Bible, or rather the use of the language was 
unusual. It was made of white rocks and in letters so large that 
it could easily be read from a great distance. Some well mean¬ 
ing religious enthusiast must have spent much time and labor in 
collecting the stones, but still the work may turn the attention 
of some discouraged heart back again to the Father’s house, and 
if so,the effort to be helpful will not have been in vain. It is the 
simple inscription, “Christ died for the ungodly.” 




Writings of a Roadman 


81 


The writer recently spent several days in Chicago where the 
fight on the saloons is waxing hot and hotter. While in Mil¬ 
waukee last week a traveling man said to me: “I have seen more 
drunken men in this city in two days past than I ever saw in 
Chicago.” Perhaps Mayor Rose is so busy telling the people of 
other cities how to handle the traffic, that some of his citizens 
take advantage of his absence. Nevertheless, the writer has ob¬ 
served for several years that Milwaukee seems to be growing 
more and more depraved regarding the consumption of strong 
drink. I have visited her “Rescue Missions” and there is where 
one may see some of the real underworld of a great city. 

* * * 

Speaking of the saloon as the “Poor man’s club,” F. M. Col- 
land, an ex-saloonkeeper of Danville, Ill., says, “I have been in 
the saloon business myself and I know what there is in the sta¬ 
tistical information given out and how it compares with the saloon 
business as it really is. Don’t let anyone make you believe that 
the saloon is the poor man’s club. I never considered my 
saloon a club. I wanted them to buy their drinks and get out. 
It was their money I was after and that is what every saloon¬ 
keeper is after. His interest in the patron ends when he has got 
his money. When his money is gone the club room feature is 
gone, for who wants him hanging around the place when his 
money is spent. What good is he? As long as the patron has 
money he is welcome. If he is partly intoxicated he spends his 
money more freely, hence, most saloonkeepers are willing to 
treat a few times to get him going. This isn’t hearsay. I know. 
I have been there. But it was more than my conscience could 
stand.” 

* * * 

At a late meeting of the American Federation of Labor, John 
Mitchell said, “Poverty has driven many a strong man to drink, 
and drink has driven many a strong man to poverty. I am not 
at all impressed with the argument that if you close down the 
liquor traffic you bring about calamity. Rather the contrary. 
There is a readjustment of society. Nothing has done more to 
bring misery upon women and children than the money spent in 
drink.” 

Here is what the old Book says of the saloon-keeper: “For 
among my people are found wicked men. They lay in wait as he 
that setteth snares. They set a trap; they catch men. As the 
cage is full of birds, so are their houses full of deceit. There- 


82 


Writings of a Roadman 


fore, they are become great and waxen rich. They are waxen 
fat; they shine. They judge not the cause of the fatherless; ytl 
they prosper. A wonderful and horrible thing is committed in 
the land. Shall I not visit for these things, saith the Lord, shall 
not my soul be avenged on such a Nation as this?” Jeremiah V. 

* * * 

Here are the products of a bushel of corn. Each bushel 
yields four gallons of whiskey. These retail for $16.80. 


The U. S. Government gets .$ 44 ° 

The farmer gets .50 

The railway company gets . 1.00 

The manufacturer gets . 4.00 

The drayman gets . 15 

The retailer gets . 6.75 

The consumer gets .drunk 

The wife gets .hungry 

The children get —. rags 


A jug of whiskey may contain a high old time for the fellow 
«vho drinks it but it also contains: 

A well of sorrow for a loving wife, 

A brawl, with ravings and endless strife. 

Headaches, heartaches and fearful woes, 

Awful curses and cruel blows, 

A thousand cares and many debts, 

A life held down by sad regrets, 

A cup of poison with pangs of pain. 

The years all wasted—spent in vain, 

The way to poverty and deepest night. 

A drunkard’s hell where demons fight, 

A fiendish gurgle as he drains the glass, 

A serpent’s hiss as the dark hours pass, 

A pall of gloom, thru cursings wild, 

And the smothered sobs of a dying child. 

There seems to be a mistaken notion among advocates of the 
legalized liquor traffic, namely, that the opponents of the 
traffic desire to stop all drinking. This is not the case. The 
writer, at least, has no such thought in mind. There is no more 
harm per se (that is, within the act itself) in drinking than there 
is in eating. It is that quasi-institution, the saloon, that must go. 
Men will drink (if they can get it) so long as the world stands. 











Writings of a Roadman 


83 


Our laws are not enacted to ‘‘make men good,” but to compel 
bad men to respect the rights of other people. 

Concerning revenue obtained thru granting of saloon licenses, 
we ask, Is it paid by the men whose incomes are five, ten or 
twenty dollars per day, or by the fellows who receive a wage of 
one twenty-five, one fifty or two dollars per day? Just the ordi¬ 
nary observer can see that it is paid by the men who can least 
afford it, and who thus rob their families in order to satisfy an 
unnatural appetite. Moreover, no man has a right to a personal 
liberty that places his individual interests above the public good. 

Samuel Gompers has recently stated that he does not favor 
prohibition because it does not prohibit. The same objection 
might be raised against a city ordinance or the Ten Command¬ 
ments. 

Minneapolis, Minn., March 25, 1910. 


A TRIP THRU THE EARTH. 


Going Up the Mississippi—Drouth in the Dakotas—The Water 
Fly—Thru the Earth in a Parachute—Dawn of Millennium 


Editor Republican: 

It has been nine years since I sent my first letter to The Re¬ 
publican from this city. Duluth at that time claimed a population 
of 65,000. I am told there are nearly 80,000 people here now. It 
is certainly a delightful place to visit at this season of the year 
and it is frequented by hundreds of summer travelers who stop 
a few days for rest and recreation. ‘‘Writings of a Roadman,” 
volume one, page 73, gives the reader some facts bearing upon 
the city’s standing as a commercial center and as an important, 
lakeport. 

* * * 

After leaving Davenport we followed the Mississippi north:-' 
ward until we reached St. Paul and Minneapolis, stopping at 
Clinton, Dubuque, LaCrosse, Winona and Red Wing. Clam fish¬ 
ing is still going on along the upper Mississippi. The shells are 
sold at the market price of $13.00 per ton to the button factories 
located at various points along the river. The mussels, in some 
instances, are cooked and fed to the hogs, while the “by-product,” 





84 


Writings of a Roadman 


the “pearls,” when they are found, bring the owners from a few 
dollars to a small fortune. There are “pearl brokers” who visit 
the camps of clam hunters from time to time and make purchases 
according to a mutual estimate of value to the parties concerned. 
I have been told that both seller and buyer are much profited 
thru this annual traffic in pearls. 

* * * 

Roadmen are reporting much depression in business in cer¬ 
tain sections, especially the Dakotas. One man representing a 
Michigan glove factory told me that many dealers from the terri¬ 
tory named were cancelling orders every day and another traveling 
man said that it was almost impossible to make collections. I am 
told that the crop yield of North Dakota is fully fifty per cent 
ahead of last year, but conditions in part of South Dakota are 
much worse than anything heretofore experienced. 

The drouth of last year was severe and debts contracted then 
were to be liquidated with this season’s product, but the rains 
came too late to do much good. Hence, in some parts the crops 
are short and in other places a total failure. The outlook is dis¬ 
couraging to say the least. One dealer has reported to his 
eastern editor that the country about him “had not produced 
enough to wad a gun,” and that little money was circulating. If 
these reports are reliable, and I believe they are, it is probable 
that a hasty emigration of many settlers will soon take place. 
Railroads are aiding the “poor” farmer by carrying his freight 
free. 

Here is a recent news item from the northwest. “Harvesting 
has begun in Alberta, which is a little earlier than it begins 
in Saskatchewan and Manitoba. There will be a great grain 
crop in the three prairie provinces of Canada this year. There 
is an increased acreage, and there will be a still greater increase 
next year.” It may be that some of the discouraged farmers of 
the States will find homes farther north by another twelve 
months. 

* * * 

While in the city of Oshkosh a few weeks since, I was intro¬ 
duced to the “water fly.” This does not mean that it was “red 
water with a fly in it.” I make this explanation lest some of 
my friends may conclude that the hot weather of that time drove 

me to certain dire extremes. I know little about this insect_its 

origin, habits or permanent habitation. It is peculiar to the lake 
region and I was told that a season of cool weather following a 


Writings of a Roadman 


85 


period of extreme heat brings them to full maturity. 

It is harmless and looks like a large mosquito, or “golly- 
nipper.” They are short-lived and migrate in great swarms to the 
shores of the pond or lake from which they are hatched. One in¬ 
sect of this kind would attract little or no attention, but to see 
millions of them and to hear the “music” of their wings is to 
cause one to marvel at their numbers and wonder how such things 
in the economy of nature can be beneficial to man. 

* * 5fe 

My readers, no doubt, have already noticed from press 
accounts that men of science have recently learned thru actual 
tests that the molten lava of active volcanoes has a temperature 
of 1850 degrees, Fahrenheit. At the sea level water will boil at 
about <Li2 degrees temperature. If the interior of the earth is in 
a molten state, the temperature must be much greater than that 
of the lava, for every element of the interior must be fused into 
one common fiery mass. 

We know that at ordinary altitudes it requires from 3600 to 
4000 degrees of heat to melt iron, 2400 degrees to reduce lead to 
a liquid, about 3000 degrees to fuse copper, that gold melts at 
1600 degrees, silver at 1650 degrees, glass at 950, nickel at 3800 and 
diamond at 4000 degrees. These figures may vary according to 
altitude, but they are approximately correct. 

Speaking of our earth’s interior, what an interesting thing it 
would be, especially to the student of geolog}^, if it were possible 
to explore these hidden regions. Let us imagine that a great 
bore were projected thru the earth and walled with some non- 
fusible, transparent substance. If this were done, let us further 
imagine some enthusiastic geologist, or perchance some crank 
seeking notoriety, descending by aid of a parachute to the heart 
of the earth. Of course, he would need to have some means of 
illumination for the first few miles downward. What a scene 
would come to view as various depths were reached. 

In passing thru the solid crust of the earth, which would 
likely measure from ten to forty miles, evidence of the different 
“ages of formation” would be seen. The various stratas of rock 
and mineral, the great deposits of precious ores, the vast subter¬ 
ranean caverns, the lakes of living water, the flowing streams— 
our earth’s hidden circulatory system, these and much more 
would be viewed during the early stages of the descent. 

As the parachute dropped to depths beyond the crust limits, 
the imagination alone can picture the scene. We are treating 


86 


Writings of a Roadman 


a “suppositional” case and of course Fancy is at liberty to spread 
her wings in unrestrained flight. Our explorer has now passed 
beyond the limitations of “Hades” and is bordering on the out¬ 
skirts of the regions infernal, perhaps the “Sheol” mentioned in 
Bible records. What a scene for human eyes to look upon! No 
pen can describe it. Protected by the imperishable wall around 
him, he gazes in astonishment and fear at the surging mass and 
listens to the deafening roar of pent-up forces. He drops with 
accelerated speed towards the earth’s center. Involuntarily he 
clutches the cords of safety and peers upward thru the open¬ 
ing in the parachute. Noises demoniacal and raging billows of 
flame and sulphurous smoke make his senses to grow dumb with 
terror. He drops farther and farther and still more rapidly into 
and thru this awful caldron—this seething, boiling, hissing, fur¬ 
nace, a place of never-ending torment “where the worm dieth not 
and the fire is not quenched.” 

He calls to mind the outer world and wonders if the great 
deep oceans rest upon this lake of fire. He thinks of the rock- 
ribbed continents, of the flood of sunshine pouring down upon 
the earth above, of the placid lakes and winding rivers, of the 
pulsating life abounding everywhere, and over all the vast and 
beautiful blue dome of Heaven. 

The vision overcomes him, and clinging desperately to the 
cords of safety, he lapses into insensibility. He has seen the 
world from the inside and before he returns to consciousness, 
the tremendous momentum gathered in his 4000-mile downward 
journey carries him safely thru the bore to the surface once more. 
Here he rests and refreshes himself and then prepares to go upon 
the numerous Chautauqua and lecture platforms of the country 
and tell the admiring crowds how one man passed thru the earth 
in a parachute. 

* * * 

It is evident that great wars are a thing of the past. In sign¬ 
ing the recent peace-pact, England, France and the United States 
have started the long-looked-for era of universal peace. The 
dawn of the Millennium is just breaking over the eastern hills. 
Hereafter there may be occasional “rumors of wars,” and some 
minor conflicts, but we risk our reputation as a prophet by saying 
that active hostilities between great nations are at an end. A 
noted French aviator says, “A number of aeroplanes could para¬ 
lyze in a few hours the world’s greatest battleships. Airmen 
could easily destroy bridges, railroads and fortresses.” 


Writings of a Roadman 


87 


And thus it has come to pass that thru arbitration and the 
success of modern aircraft war is made impossible. Nations can 
now give more attention to questions within, to the cleansing of 
government in civil affairs and the educating and training of the 
individual, and the consequent uplift of the whole citizenry. 
Duluth, Minn., August 7, 1911. 


OBSERVATIONS IN MINNESOTA. 


In Summer Resort Territory—W. J. Bryan on the Saloon-^ 
Vacuum Cleaners on Railway Trains—Comments on the 
Opening of School—The Value of a Smile. 


The entire state of Minnesota is well within the lines of ‘'sum¬ 
mer resort” territory. The State Manual of Information says, 
“Minnesota is blessed above all other states in the Union in the 
amount of her fishing area in lakes and rivers. The state has 
more than ten thousand lakes besides the different rivers and 
small streams that connect these lakes.” 

There is a water-course boundary of more than 5000 miles, 
and to give the reader some idea of the numerous waters of the 
state, I will say I have been told there are about three hundred 
lakes in this (Becker) county alone. In these waters may be 
found the finest fishing in the world. 

While in the vicinity of Crookston on September 7, I met and 
saw scores of hunters all ready to take advantage of the open 
season for prairie chicken, which began on that date. Each 
hunter is permitted to kill fifteen birds a day but no game is to 
be sold or shipped out of the state. The state license fee is one 
dollar for resident and ten dollars for non-resident hunters. 

* * * 

The constant rains during the past week have reduced the 
attendance at the State fair so greatly that the financial loss to 
the management and concessioners will not be much short of one 
hundred thousand dollars. When the weather is favorable Min¬ 
nesota holds one of the best Fairs of any state in the Union. 
The various exhibits this year were firstclass but the unfavorable 
weather kept the crowds away. 

* * H< 

The business outlook in North Dakota is much better than it 





88 


Writings of a Roadman 


was one year ago. I visited the cities of Fargo and Grand Forks 
and could easily discern a tendency towards a renewal of com¬ 
mercial activity which the severe drouth of last year seriously 
checked. 

North Dakota is a “Prohibition state” and Governor Burke 
has honestly endeavored to carry out his campaign pledges 
regarding the enforcement of the liquor laws. The state is ordi¬ 
narily Republican but the Governor is a Democrat—elected on 
the strength of his promises to enforce the prohibitory liquor 
laws. 

Moorehead, Minnesota, is situated just across the river from 
Fargo. It is in “wet” territory and a more rum-cursed commun¬ 
ity would be hard to find. As I looked upon its numerous 
“whiskey joints” and the defiled, degraded and beer-beslobbered 
faces of the men who were lounging about these dens of vice, 
I called to mind the charges made against the saloon by William 
Jennings Bryan at the recent General Assembly of the Presby¬ 
terian Church. 

Mr. Bryan said, “The saloon is a nuisance. The evil can no 
more be confined to the building in which it exists than the odor 
of a slaughter house to the block in which it is located. 

“I know and you know that they are in league with every 
other form of evil in society. As a rule, if you let the liquor 
dealer have his way, he will have a disorderly house up stairs, he 
will have a gambling den in his back room, and his place will 
be the center of every sort of evil. 

“The saloon is the bureau of information for every sort of 
crime. It is the first place that a policeman looks for crime and 
the last place he would go to look for virtue.” 

* * * 

Modern conveniences in the well to do home are legion, and 
not >one has been more welcome to the average housewife than 
the “vacuum cleaner.” The various vacuum devices for the gath¬ 
ering of dust with the least amount of annoyance and labor are 
to be encouraged everywhere. A few days since I saw the 
vacuum cleaner being used in one of the fine railway trains on 
which I was a passenger. It was the “electric” kind and the 
carpet in the aisle of the coaches was neatly cleaned without 
“raising a dust” or in any manner interfering with the comfort 
of the traveling public. 

* * * 

As I boarded a train for Duluth some time ago, a husband 


Writings of a Roadman 


89 


accompanied his wife and little son to a place in the coach just 
opposite from where I sat. When the time for the train to 
depart arrived, the father kissed his loved ones good by and left 
the train. The separation of the father and mother was evident¬ 
ly an unusual things for they both silently wept and as the mother 
continued to weep after the train pulled out, the little boy with 
quivering chin and tears in his eyes, looked plaintively at his 
mother and said, “Don’t cry, mamma, don’t cry.” 

The scene was sufficient to stir the sympathies of most any¬ 
one and the writer began to think how sad it is to part with 
loved ones, even for a brief time. The mother kept her handker¬ 
chief to her eyes and the lad kept pleadingly repeating. “Don’t 
cry, mamma, don’t cry.” After a half hour’s ride the tears were 
forgotten and both mother and child were intently watching the 
beautiful country thru which we were passing. 

In turning in his seat the boy unintentionally brushed his 
soiled shoes over the lap of his erstwhile tender hearted parent. 
She beheld the dust and dirt lodged on her clean apparel and her 
wrath was kindled. She grabbed the boy fiercely, jerked him 
violently from his seat and boxed his ears, at the same time scowl- 
ingly snapping out, “What did you do that for? Why did you put 
your feet on my dress?” Of course, the boy could not answer 
and the bright little fellow quickly subsided. He sat very still 
and his chin quivered—from fear rather than sympathy, however, 
and I concluded that the mother’s tears of the hour previous 
served only to cover the real spirit of the virago which was ready 
to break forth at the slightest provocation. 

* * * 

The month for the opening of our public schools, colleges 
and universities is here. What a great army of young people 
will soon pour into the “halls of learning.” The eager greetings, 
the renewing of former associations, the meeting of new and 
strange faces, the contact with untried teachers and instructors, 
the mingling and intermingling in a common fellowship on the 
“old playground” or campus, are some of the things that will thrill 
and inspire these young lives. 

The days in school mark the period in life for permanent 
character building—for the forming of right purposes, the select¬ 
ing of safe associates, the eschewing of bad habits, the develop¬ 
ment of physical manhood and womanhood, the mind-training so 
necessary to future success, and last but not least, the laying of 
a foundation that will, in many cases, determine the life vocation. 


90 


Writings of a Roadman 


The time has long since gone by when the wise teacher holds 
out to her girl pupils the thought that they may become Rosa 
Bonheitrs, Florence Nightingales or Harriett Beecher Stowes. 
Neither does she tell her boys that if they are industrious and 
well behaved that some day they may be president of the United 
States or occupy a high place in the halls of congress. 

The teacher who desires to render a real service will encour¬ 
age her boys and girls to be upright and honest because it is 
becoming and right; to make the most of their opportunities, 
because it is wise; to follow good advice in the home because 
they love it; to seek the wisdom of their seniors because it edi¬ 
fies; to respect things sacred because they are a source of influ ¬ 
ence and power in later years; to honor father and mother in 
everything that is holy; to shun all appearances of evil because 
it is safe; to be firm and unselfish and render a willing service; 
to study the value of the initiative; to be thoughtful and consider¬ 
ate at all times, especially to the unfortunate, for these are some 
of the things that make for a happy and successful career. 

Of course, it is not wrong to* lead an ambitious boy to think 
that some day he may be called to occupy the President’s chair. 
But why encourage him in such a direction, when a thousand use¬ 
ful things quickly attainable may be reached? If he aspires to 
some noble achievement there are ten thousand avenues bidding 
him welcome. The industrial fields are now waiting for some 
genius to unlock their hidden possibilities that they may further 
bless all mankind. Moreover, if men like Daniel Webster, Charles 
Sumner, Henry Clay, James G. Blaine and William J. Bryan— 
men of unusual intellect and power, could not reach the goal of 
their ambitions, what show can there possibly be for less gifted 
minds? Anyhow, it seems that the high places are as often 
attained by accident as by studied and well matured plans. 

* * * 

“It is easy to laugh and be cheerful, 

When the world moves along like a song, 

But the man worth while is the man who can smile 
When everything goes dead wrong.” 

I have often thought that the effect of a smile under discour¬ 
aging conditions is like the turning on of an electric light in a 
dark room. 

Detroit, Minn., Sept. 9, 1911. 


Writings of a Roadman 


91 


LAWYERS AND LOGIC. 

Socialism in Milwaukee—Children’s Day and Big Hats—A 
Lawyer’s Measure of Right and Wrong—The 
Epitaph of Benjamin Franklin. 

Two years ago the Socialists were victorious in the Milwaukee 
elections. Thru ,a combination of opposing forces, they were re¬ 
cently defeated. Nevertheless, they have made many converts 
during their trial in office, making a gain of more than one thous¬ 
and votes at the last general contest over the number credited to 
them two years ago. 

It was reported thru 1 the press that their downfall was ac¬ 
complished thru a coalition of the old party adherents, but I have 
been reliably informed that such was not the case—that the 
joint influences of the Brewers and Catholics led to their defeat. 
The victors, I am told, are now quarreling among themselves and 
it is predicted that the Socialists will again be returned to power 
two years hence. Honor to whom honor is due. It is but simple 
justice to say that the city of Milwaukee never received a more 
impartial and effective administration than th.at rendered by the 
Socialists. In short, they “made good.” 

* * * 

In no state do I see so many women working afield as here in 
Wisconsin. I have wondered whether it is a matter of necessity, 
simply a custom, or if the condition is to be ascribed to the fact 
that the dominant nationality is German, and that a custom of 
the “Fatherland” has been transplanted to our shores. I have 
seen them doing all sorts of farm work—hoeing and planting, 
raking hay, plowing corn, cutting grain and indeed performing a 
man’s work in a man’s way. 

* * * • 

While spending a recent Lord’s day in Oshkosh, I left my 
hotel at the hour for church service and sought a place of wor¬ 
ship. The city is blessed with some beautiful church edifices, 
and seeing the people gathering at the doors of an attractive new 
church I went in with the crowd. As becometh a stranger, the 
writer took one of the rear seats. He endeavored to experience 
that reverence which should characterize the true worshiper. The 
platform and pulpit preparation soon led me to conclude that it 
was an occasion of more than usual interest and importance. 




92 


Writings of a Roadman 


There was a great company of musicians preparing to play, beau¬ 
tiful flowers were displayed in abundance, while the eager and 
busy manner of the good pastor showed that he was anxious for 
the services to begin. 

I noticed many of those in the pews turning about and 
watching the entrance to the church, and soon the great organ 
struck up a march, the thunderous peals of which could be heard 
for blocks away, when there began to enter a numerous company 
of little girls attired in white, gayly beribboned, and carefully 
guarded by women, their teachers in the Bible school. The boys, 
too, came in their proper order and all marched to the front of 
the auditorium. I did not need to be told that it was “Children’s 
Day,” and that the hour of service was chiefly for their benefit. 

As each attendant settled into his, or rather her seat, a great 
sea of hats—ladies’ hats, spread out before me. I thought how 
true the statement that but two people ever know how high is 
a lady’s hat, namely, the man who pays for it and the fellow who 
sits behind it. The milliners turn out some wonderful creations, 
beautiful I suppose and in some measure useful, yet what an in¬ 
convenience to the general public when a hundred or more are 
“bunched” at a church service. I want to die in the sublime faith 
of my sainted mother—in the faith that removes mountains of 
difficulty and trouble and sees good in the humblest thing of earth, 
but I cherish the hope 'that when the day of coronation is at hand, 
when the worthy are ushered into the King’s presence, there may 
be no invention of man to hinder a clear vision of the throne. 

* * * 

There are no two words in our language more significent 
than the monosyllables “right” and “wrong.” They carry a 
meaning that is basic—a power to determine and settle the 
weightiest matters man is ever called to consider. Nevertheless, 
the standards of measure leading up to the use of either vary 
greatly. I find that in most cases (so far as my acquaintance 
gO'es) that a legal and moral standard of what is right or 
wrong are very different. Lawyers as a class seem to measure 
“right” by the numerous volumes of statutory law. If the law 
permits a thing, it is right. If it is forbidden, it is wrong. In 
the lawyer’s reasoning the moral standard is too seldom applied. 
He thinks in the terms of statutes and court decisions, argues 
from precedent (too often ancient and musty) and strives for 
victory within the narrow limits of law enactments. The moral 
standard should govern. If a thing is legally right and morally 


Writings of a Roadman 


93 


wrong, in the sight of God and all fair-minded men it is WRONG, 
and no ruling or wish of man can change it. To live within the 
law is good. To live on the high plain of moral rectitude and 
right is better. 

* * * 

Some time ago the writer found himself aboard a train leav¬ 
ing Chicago and headed for <S’t. Louis. A young mother with 
two restless youngsters sat near. The mother was evidently 
tired from constant watchfulness, and the children were eager to 
see every passing object as the train proceeded on its way. The 
eldest child, a boy of four, continually worried the patient little 
woman with all sorts of questions. When the child would say, 
“O mamma, see that cow.” the mother would wearily reply, “Yes, 
yes, darling, that is a cow.” 

By the time the train reached Chenoa, the woman was 
exceedingly weary, but the questions came as fast as ever. 
“O mamma, what is that?” said the boy, pointing at some ob¬ 
ject from the car widow. “O', that is a car they are putting on 
the T. P. & W.,” said the mother. “Where is the P. T. & W.” the 
boy insisted. Is that it over by that house, mamma?” “Yes, dar¬ 
ling, I guess so,” was the comforting reply. “Mamma, mamma,” 
shouted the lad, “Where is that train going?” “O, it’s going to St. 
Louis I guess,” the mother listlessly replied. “Where is St Loo, 
mamma?” But just here the conductor asked for the tickets and 
while the young woman fished hers out of her hand bag, the two 
children stared at the big conductor and then prepared to con¬ 
tinue the “inquisition.” 


* * * 

The writer believes that Franklin’s epitaph, written by him¬ 
self is the sentiment of an unnumbered host of people who feel 
as deeply as 1 did Franklin, and cherish the same hope, but who* 
are unable to so beautifully express the soul’s desire. On the 
simple stone in the old cemetery at Philadelphia, we may read, 
“The body of Benjamin Franklin (like the cover of an old book, 
its contents torn out and stripped of its leather and gilding) lies 
here food for worms; yet the work itself shall not be lost, for it 
will, as he believes, appear once more in a new and more beau¬ 
tiful edition, corrected and amended by the Author.” 


Milwaukee, Wis., June 15, 1912. 


Writings of a Roadman 


94 


OLDTIME RELIGION. 

Something About Zion City—Dowie’s Jerusalem—Observations 
on Church Life—Why Little Children Should Attend 
Divine Services—Railroads Quit Selling Liquor. 

On my trips between this city and Milwaukee I usually pass 
thru Zion City, the little town north of Waukegan and which was 
founded several years ago by John Alexander Dowie. This man 
left a deep impress on the men and women who accepted his reli¬ 
gious teaching. He was in fact a great leader, a preacher of 
wonderful power—a great organizer, and if he had not become 
puffed up over his- success and arrogated to himself certain power 
that belongs to God only, he might have gone on unchallenged in 
his leadership. When he forgot God his “dynasty” began to 
totter and soon the strife and controversy within shook the “walls 
of zion” to their foundation and disintegration rapidly set> in. The 
story of his inglorious and untimely end is familiar to* all and the 
record of his interesting achievements will not soon be forgotten. 

Zion City is slowly recovering from the moral and physical 
collapse that followed the leader’s downfall. Many of its vari¬ 
ous industries are being revived, and while the population has 
“shifted” considerably, enough of the original following remains 
to give the community a complexion distinctly “Dowieesque.” A 
large sign near 'the station bears a significant inscription. In 
part it reads, “A clean city for clean people. No tobacco, no 
whiskey, no beer, no theaters, no pork, no drugs, no oysters.” 

This sort of prohibition rigidly enforced would make life 
almost a barren waste for some people I know. What a lonely 
lot of human beings there would be if the regulations of 
Zion City were generally in force. And yet how much unhappi¬ 
ness and misery, pain and poverty, sin and suffering would be 
avoided if all were willing to forego the indulgence of question¬ 
able pleasures, and sacrifice the desires of an unnatural appetite 
for a season. 

* * * 

As a companion thought to this mention of the semi-religious 
movement in the founding of Zion City, I call the reader’s atten¬ 
tion to a change in the sentiment and custom touching public wor¬ 
ship that may account for some “modern tendencies” in the reli¬ 
gious life of the people. In the days of our grandfathers and grand- 




Writings of a Roadman 


95 


mothers, large and small, the aged and the young, the little chil¬ 
dren—even the babies, usually made up an audience of worshipers 
on the Lord’s day. These were the times of genuine, whole- 
souled worship when a proper respect for the house of God was 
inculcated in the minds of the young and when a reverence for 
things holy w r as the rule. 

It was then that the common people heard with gladness the 
story of redeeming love and the entire congregation assembled 
sang God’s praises “with the spirit and the understanding,’’ 
making melody in their hearts unto the Lord. There was no 
stiff formalism. The minister spoke to open, honest hearts 
whose faith was childlike. He was duly conscious of his respon¬ 
sibility to waiting souls and he proclaimed the conditions of par¬ 
don fearlessly and with power. What if some youngster did 
occasionally “raise a cry’’ and disturb the meeting? What if some 
loving mother was obliged now and then to carry her restless 
babe from the room? What if some mischievous boy did man¬ 
age to kick the dog, skulking under the seat, and make him howl 
just as the preacher was reaching a climax in his sermon? 

These little breaks in the order of worship only served to lend 
an air of orthodoxy to the services. No wonder those early 
preachers delivered a full and unadulterated Gospel. No man can 
talk nonsense or “higher criticism,” with three or four crying 
babies in the congregation. As Woodrow Wilson would fain have 
treated Mr. Bryan, they quickly knock such stuff into a “cocked 
hat.” Between rebellious youngsters and “criticism” from the 
pulpit, the audience preferred to hear the babies “squawk” 

Thus we may account for so much “ethics,” “sociology,” “hew 
thought” and intellectual flapdoodle in not a few of our modern 
pulpits. The children, and the babies in particular, have been 
eliminated from the church services. The preacher has “full 
swing” and can proceed to lay down his premises, to amplify and 
elucidate (not expound) and “split hairs” in a metaphysical 
fashion with never a whimper from some tired little worshiper to 
break the depressing monotony. 

Have we not too much “fashionable” preaching and fine hats, 
too many “lofty airs” (from the choir loft), too little of heart¬ 
searching truth from the pulpit, and too few of the “little ones” 
ir the average church service? Why not take the children—the 
little children to the service of the Lord’s house? They are in 
the impressionable period of life and there is a distinct difference 
between the atmosphere of the Bible School and that of 


96 


Writings of a Roadman 


the Church of God. Moreover, the minister should learn to 
talk to children more, and to grown people less. If the child 
is well taught the man will take care of himself. 

I find that the churches most afflicted with dry-rot infidelity, 
“ethical culture” and intellectual pride are the ones where the 
children and the babies have long since disappeared. Little 
wonder that a preacher with “modern tendencies” is called to such 
pulpits. Fossils in the pews prefer the mental pabulum and wis¬ 
dom that flow's from a “scholarly” pilot. The vaporings o-f a 
skeptical destructive critic and a little child do not mix anywhere. 

Jesus said, “Suffer the little children to come unto me and for¬ 
bid them not, for of such is the kingdom of Heaven.” No church 
that slights its children in its regular services can ever amount 
to much. In so doing it shuts off the main arteries of its latent 
spiritual life—the strong potential forces back of its being. Then 
why not take the children to the house of God? Why 
deprive them of this essential training for good citizenship 
and a consequent wholesome respect for things sacred? To do 
so may fret the fastidious tempers of a few “society folk,” but it 
would please the Lord, and His approving smile is worth more 
than the hollow plaudits of a thousand worlds. 

* * * 

Since eleven railroads have recently declared that they will 
sell no more liquor on their trains in Illinois, would it not be in 
keeping with this spirit of justice and right if Congress would 
enact a law forbidding liquor to be shipped into “dry” territory? 
Chicago, March 2, 1912. 



Writings of a Roadman 


97 


A COMPOSITE WORD PICTURE. 


Graphic Description of a Tornado—The Booze Fighter’s Story o£ 
a “Leading Citizen”—An Experience on a Parlor Car— 

“I’ll Take a Punch at You”—Things a Roadman 
Learns—Progress of Fifty Years— 

The Author’s Adieu. 


Next to seeing a regular Kansas cyclone, or tornado, in “oper¬ 
ation’’ is to listen to an accurate description of one by a reliable 
eye witness who but recently looked upon this interesting and 
impressive phenomenon in nature. While going by train from 
Concordia to Abilene a few weeks since I met a young farmer 
who told me that he had seen two tornadoes within the past year. 
He said, “I never feared a storm until I came near being drawn 
into the awful funnel of a cyclone.” 

Noticing that he was capable of relating his experience in an 
interesting fashion, I requested him to tell me some of the partic¬ 
ulars regarding the weather conditions preceding the storms and 
the season of the year at which they occurred. He then told me 
his experience as follows • “One morning last spring I was 
disking some land preparatory to planting corn. The morning 
“mist clouds” hung low over the earth and there was a sultry, 
depressing atmosphere. About ten o’clock I noticed the sudden 
gathering of two very dark clouds a little to the southwest. At 
first these clouds were distinctly separate and some distance 
apart. Within an incredibly short time each assumed the char¬ 
acteristic whirling or rotary motion of a tornado, and each was 
seemingly drawn towards the other. I was not more than eighty 
rods from the point where they merged into one awful funnel of 
destruction. This foreboding mass quickly followed the course 
of a ravine or gully which led to the northeast. The white mist 
clouds were drawn into the center, the ominous black ones re¬ 
maining on the outside, while the noise or roar of the storm was 
enough to strike terror to the bravest heart.” 

“The great whirling, funnel-shaped column would rise from 
the surface and then dip down again, tearing large trees from 
their roots, carrying them upward and round and round until the 
mass of wreckage was finally scattered broadcast over the earth. 
I am sure that no work of man could have withstood the power 
of such a demon of destruction. The storm gathered and spent 
its fury within a period of fifteen or twenty minutes. After the 




98 


Writings of a Roadman 


“funnel” left the earth it rose higher and higher until it disap¬ 
peared in the clouds above. The path of destruction covered a 
small area and little real damage was done but the sight was so 
terrible that I am still haunted by the vision of that April morn¬ 
ing.” 

* * * 

Some men are what is sometimes called “easy marks.” That 
is, thev become the ready prey of tricksters, confidence men and 
designing mendicants everywhere. The “booze fighter,” too, is 
quick to discern in such people his opportunity to collect alms 
thru his tale of misfortune and “hard luck.” 

I do not regard myself especially “easy” and yet I often won¬ 
der why so many “good-for-nothings” select me as their object of 
attack. It ma> he that my demeanor reveals a “benevolent side,” 
the evidence of which usually appeals strongly to the unfortunate 
castaway. I do not deny that I have ever tried to be a friend to 
the fellow who needs a helping hand and possibly I have culti¬ 
vated this side of my nature to a dangerous point. 

While on a trip from 'Springfield to Bloomington some months 
ago, a passenger showing signs of a recent debauch sat down by 
my side in the coach. As an act of self defense I raised the 
window so that the inrushing air would drive back the liquor 
fumes which he constantly exhaled. This half intoxicated citizen 
soon began to unfold to me the story of his woes in Springfield. 
At first I thought to have him ejected from the car as 
our present state liquor law strictly forbids an intoxicated person 
from riding on a common carrier of any kind. Nevertheless, I 
patiently suffered his presence and listened to his story of hard 
luck. He 'told me with a thick tongue of how he was an honest 
and industrious, sober farmer living near Lincoln and how he had 
gone to the State fair to enjoy the exhibits of the farmers’ handi¬ 
work, when lo! lan officer of the law had ruthlessly thrust him into 
the “basttle,” or city lockup, where he found sixty-five other 
'“leading citizens—all sober, too,” as he declared. 

“Y-y-yes s-s-sir,” he solemnly protested, “they had sixty-six 
of us leading citizens locked up last night,” when I. added ironi¬ 
cally, “and all sober too! What a shame to lock up sixty-six 
leading citizens who merely desired Ho look upon the beauty and 
the glory of our great State fair.” He readily assented that it 
was a shame. I asked him how much money he had when he 
went to Springfield. He answered, “fifty dollars” and further 
stated that he was going to Lincoln to get money to redeem the 


Writings of a Roadman 


99 


check he had given to square his fine—$10.40. Of course he had 
been locked up and fined for being drunk, but I ask, Was this 
man’s offense against society more to be condemned than is the 
state or municipality that trafficks in intoxicating beverages and 
then imposes a heavy fine or penalty upon the poor creatures who 
drink to excess and thereby lose their reason? Shame on such 
a system. 

* * * 

During my thirteen years of Pavel I have seldom indulged 
in the luxury of a “parlor car.” Not that I dp not feel “good 
enough” or financially able to ride in such style, but simply 
because I have preferred to remain one of the “common yeoman¬ 
ry'’ of the land—riding in dayr coaches and thus keeping in touch 
with the great heart) of a common humanity. 

Not long since, however, I was a passenger in the parlor 
coach, over the McKinley line f cm the capital of our state to the 
city on the “still water”—Peoria. On that occasion the traffic 
was light—only three other passengers (all males) were in the 
car. These coaches are elegantly furnished and the service is 
firstclass in every respect. After perusing the morning paper 
and glancing thru one of the numerous magazines which I found 
upon the reading table, T fell into an easy-going conversation with 
a “knight of the grip” who sat directly opposite. Our talk was 
of a general nature until the question of churches and religion 
came up, and even then nothing “radical” was said on either hand. 
In my endeavor to “draw out” my fellow traveler I asked him 
what) made a nation great—was it the dominant religion, civil and 
religious liberty", or the industrial activities of the people? His 
answer soon revealed that he was net in sympathy with the work 
of our churches, and when I quoted Tolstoy’s definition of reli¬ 
gion he did not seem to comprehend the meaning of what was 
said. I then tried my hand at quoting scripture, thinking it 
might be more edifying than Tolstoy", but we read in the Good 
Book that some things are “spiritually discerned,” and my friend 
had evidently shut himself up against the light that comes thru, 
a familiarity with and an acceptance of the truth as recorded in 
the Word of God. 

* 

He proceeded to tell me that he thought the churches were 
misleading the people, (and all this time we were flying along at 
forty miles an hour) justifying his remarks by stating that he had 
a friend who would not think of eating meat on Friday but who, 
nevertheless, was guilty of gross immorality. Just here another 


100 


Writings of a Roadman 


passenger of florid face interrupted by loudly addressing the road¬ 
man thus: “Say, Mister, if you say the Catholic church is respon¬ 
sible for the immorality you mention, you are a liar.” This was 
certainly a “strong” introduction and was quickly resented by the 
traveling man who replied, “Sir, if you say I do not know what 
I am talking about, you are a liar,” and at this our Catholic 
friend flew into a rage, saying, “I’ll just take a punch at you,” and 
before I could “get a word in edgewise” or interfere, he jumped 
around by the table and while the roadman was still sitting, 
assaulted him in a most brutal manner. At the first cessation of 
“hostilities” I persuaded our hasty passenger to desist, and as no 
serious d'amage had been done, a calm followed the storm, after 
which each party to the encounter tried to make his position 
better understood. The attacking individual admitted that he was 
not a “good Catholic,” that he was in the liquor business—some¬ 
thing his church condemned, but he “knew the Catholic church 
did not teach as the roadman had inferentially stated.” In this 
contention he was probably right, for the kind of immorality 
mentioned was altogether unprintable. Nevertheless, Jesus says, 
“My kingdom is not of this world: if my kingdom were of this 
world, then would my servants fight.” When a devotee of any 
church resorts to violence under a provocation as here mentioned 
it clearly reveals the kingdom to which he rightfully belongs. 

At this point in the discussion and after the roadman had 
left the train, a rather amusing statement was made by passenger 
number four, a devout Syrian. I say “amusing” for the reason 
that he had overheard the discussion, or more properly, the har¬ 
angue on churches, and he volunteered to tell me that there “is 
only one true church.” I asked him to- which he referred and he 
quickly replied, “the Seventh-Day Adventist.” I told him I knew 
many people of that communion—that I regarded them among 
thd best people on earth but I could not concur in, nor subscribe 
to a statement so broad as the one he had made. 

* * * 

After an experience of more than a dozen years on the road, 

I have learned in what things to be wise, or rather how to avoid 
mistakes and likewise protect myself against petty impositions 
peculiar to> road life. A mention of some may profitably interest 
the reader. 

When reaching my destination late in the day, I have long ago 
found it convenient to not be the first passenger to enter the wait¬ 
ing “bus,” especially if there be a number of guests for the lead¬ 
ing hotel, for in getting to the hotel register after the trip from 


Writings of a Roadman 


101 


the station, the first man in the bus is bound to be 'the last man 

to register—a literal case of where the “last shall be first and the 

first last.” It is often impossible tot secure lodging in the best 
hotels unless a notice for a reservation is sent in advance. 

Furthermore, if you reach your hotel somewhat late for the 
meal, especially the evening “dinner,” my advice would be to have 
the clerk mark “L” and not “S” opposite your name. This 

means that you will not risk getting a “cold” supper and very 

bkely.an unsatisfactory service from the tired waitress, but that 
you will slip out to some good restaurant where you can order 
what you like and have it served warm. In such a case the hotel 
management is not to be blamed, for no ordinary chef can be 
expected to furnish firstclass food for more than two hours at 
one time. This, of course, does not apply to many of the hotels 
in the large cities. Moreover, the guest who receives the best 
and most cheerful attention in the dining room is not the one who 
has become a chronic growler at every little irregularity that 
happens to bob up. Not long since a friend related to me how 
he overheard a remark in the kitchen of a dining car, namely, one 
colored waiter said to another, “I fixed that old grouch in there,” 
referring to a patron of the dining car. “What did you do?” 
the other asked. “O, I spit in his coffee,” the first replied. 

Again, if you are wise you will not “list” your laundry when 
it is turned over to the hotel management. Of course it will be 
listed at the laundry when it is received and if some article is 
missing when it is returned the loss will not likely be noticed by 
you and if so-, the owner will not “get mad” and storm the office 
of the clerk. The missing article (a collar or perhaps a handker¬ 
chief) may not be worth the time required to recover the same, 
and so if one does not know of the loss, some trouble and vexa¬ 
tion of spirit will be avoided. 

In retiring for the night do not “leave a call” unless it is very 
necessary that you rise at an early hour. Others will likely 
leave calls and the ringing of bells or the rapping on doors in the 
morning will certainly arouse you just as completely as tho the 
various calls included your number. Furthermore, when the boy 
in the hall shouts “five-thirty,” or “six o’clock,” you may thereby 
know that yon can go on snoozing for one hour more and accord¬ 
ingly not be obliged to get up and look at your watch. 

I, would further add that the average roadman loses nothing 
and gains a great deal by being generous to the porters, bell boys, 
waitresses and other help about the hotel. It is safe to say that 


102 


Writings of a Roadman 


in most of the leading hotels this force of assistants is not slow to 
“spot the tightwad” and such a one will soon discover that the 
principle of reciprocity may sometimes work to one’s harm as well 
as to one’s good, for he will probably be given a grudging service 
if not palpably slighted. 

* * * 

Fortunately, I was born and reared in a log cabin. Not that 
in order to do good in the world would I insist that everyone be 
thus born and brought up, but as the progress and events of the 
years agone pass in review before me, I am the better able to 
make comparisons and draw right conclusions. 

Comparatively, fifty years are but a short stretch of time. 
Time is most profitably measured by what has been accomplished. 
The last fifty milestones that mark our country’s progress are 
indeed most interesting. The changes that have been wrought 
within the last half century are truly marvelous and well nigh, 
beyond the power of man to grasp. From a wild and almost 
boundless domain to a civilization that commands the respect of 
great world powers; from a country divided and torn by internal 
dissensions, with financial credit seriously impaired, to a federation 
of states reunited in peace and leading the empires of the world in 
the possibilities of material growth, are changes so vast and far 
reaching that history fails to record a parallel. 

It is a long step from the lowly, pastoral life in a log cabin 
to the immense complexity of resources and power in a great 
city. It is a mighty advance from the crude stage coach and 
lumbering oxcart of other days to the swift express train, the 
electrically-driven car and the convenient automobile of the pres¬ 
ent. It is a marvelous revolution that has displaced the sickle, 
the scythe and the grain-cradle with the mower and self-binder of 
our time. It is almost a magical transition that has substituted 
the electricity of Edison for the candle and the tallow-dip of forty 
years ago. 

In physical science and industrial achievement man has sig¬ 
nally triumphed. The march of progress has given us the railway 
and telegraph, the ocean cable, the wonderful telephone and the 
still more wonderful system of wireless telegraphy, the modern 
battleship and the great ocean steamers, the perfected printing 
press, together with its indispensible mate, the typesetting 
machine, the suspension bridge and the flying machine or aero¬ 
plane, while the myriad forms of varied mechanical devices in 
every department of science have multiplied so rapidly that the 


Writings of a Roadman 


103 


task of epitomizing, even the most useful, baffles the genius and 
skill of man to adequately enumerate for purposes of comparison. 

In the fields of politics, philanthropy and religion progress 
has been commensurate with opportunity. The rightful sovereign, 
the intelligent voter, is demanding true and honest representation 
at the hands of the law-making bodies of both the states and the 
nation. Rich men are learning the wisdom of a worthy benefi¬ 
cence towards the less fortunate and are more and more exempli¬ 
fying by their act£ the teaching that declares, “it is more blessed 
to give 'than to receive,” while charity and good will among the 
Christian believers seem to be rapidly converging to a point where 
the true followers of Christ are about ready to fulfill the heart 
yearning of Jesus when he prayed the Father “that they also may 
be one in us: that the world may believe that thou hast sent me.” 

In view of the great advance that has been made during 
fifty years, in every realm of human endeavor, and considering the 
wide possibilities everywhere inviting us to still nobler achieve¬ 
ment, we should never falter in our aspirations to rise above the 
accomplishments of the past, for in contemplating a larger vision 
and aspiring to> higher ideals, the present has its duty and the 
future its hope. 

* * * 

Nearly a dozen years have passed since my first “letter” to 
The Republican appeared. Thru the intervening years a great 
number of similar communications have been published. The 
task of preparing these letters from time to time has been a real 
pleasure, knowing as I have that the reflections and observations 
presented, would be appreciated by many who have been denied 
the privilege of travel. 

It is hoped that the informational features of what has 
appeared, if such have been discovered, may not have been written 
in vain, but that some, at least, may have been profited thereby. 
The occasional moral lesson, I believe, will not be lost. For the 
general sentiment expressed on whatsoever subject touched, the 
author alone is responsible. 

In presenting “Writings of a Roadman” in book form—volume 
one having been published four years ago, the writer feels that 
what is therein valuable will thus be better preserved to future 
generations. 

And now to< all who have shared the reciprocal pleasures 
arising from such a fellowship as has been ours to enjoy, we bid 
a kind and. reluctant farewell. 

January i, 1913. 



K\)t ^oems 



iforeiDortJ 


The selections in rhyme herewith presented may be classified 
as poems of the heart and poems of the mind, together with those 
cf less literary merit which we are pleased to term “trinket 
poetry”—so designated for the reason that they are chiefly inter¬ 
esting because of the “personal element” contained therein. The 
reader will readily determine the class to which each product 
belongs. 

These “children of the mind” have sprung into being under 
varied conditions in widely separated places, and are the results 
of observations and reflections during leisure moments while the 
author was under the pressure of numerous business duties. They 
are submitted in the hope that those who read may not only be 
entertained but may come into closer touch with the impulses and 
experiences that have prompted their creation. 

The poems were all written within a period of ten years 
immediately preceding the date of their appearance in this volume. 


Eureka, Ill., January 1913. 


G. W. H. 



106 


Writings ot a Roadman 


THE SPIRIT OF SPRING. 

Through biting winds of winter, bleak and raw, 

Through frozen months of icy air and drifting snow, 

We await the tardy stormking’s farewell dirge, 

That ends the gusty, cold and lengthened siege 
Of killing frosts from distant frigid zone, 

And then gives place once more to balmy Spring. 

The season best, most loved of all the year, 

Now comes with fragrant flowers and merry birds, 

And quickly wakes anew to life with gentle showers, 

The slumbering earth full laden with that goodly part, 

Which makes us love to think we still are here 

To welcome the varied beauty springing from Nature’s heart 

’Tis now the happy time when joyous life abounds, 

When buoyant hope springs up to meet the dawn, 

And time rests lightly as we run the way 

Toward luring fields in elysian beauty rare, 

And farther yet to strange delights and pleasures sweet, 

That lead us on and up to scenes both vast and fair. 

’Tis now the day-star guides to vistas far beyond, 

And strength new-born flings life’s horizon wide, 

And the heart of youth impatient still to know, 

The limits set on man the creature here below, 

When first by faith he seeks to find and trod, 

The path that leads him home and back to God. 


Writings of a Roadman 


107 


WHEN SHE WAS EIGHT AND 
I WAS TEN. 

In the quiet hours of evening, 

While the sun sinks low to rest 
When the day’s reflected glory, 
Brightens all the fading west; 
When the songbird softly warbles 
To his mate in tree or fen. 

The heart goes back to early years, 

When she was eight and I was ten 

We wandered by the shaded brook, 
Where rarest flowers are seen, 

We played together on the lawn, 

We strolled upon the green; 

No brighter days have ever come 

To youth and maid in wooded glen 
Who thought the world a paradise, 

When she was eight and I was ten 

Our lives ran on together, 

Like the rivers to the sea, 

And the joys of life grew sweeter, 

As we pledged our constancy; 

We learned to know the meaning 
Of the cords that drew us then, 

To seek the nook by rippling brook, 
When she was eight and I was ter 

The deepest joys are ours today, 

Though years have passed and gone. 
Since hearts attuned to trustful love, 
Became in purpose one; 

And the faith and hope we cherish now. 
Are ne’er expressed by pen, 

They grew from love in tender years, 
When she was eight and I was ten. 


108 


Writings of a Roadman 


TALE OF A RUSTIC SEAT. 

Let me tell you a story of love, rather old, 

Though a tale I am sure that is true, 

For it happened a-time long ago we are told, 

In the days when our country was new. 

There lived in a cozy, old countryside place, 

A blushing fair maid and a bold dashing swain, 

She was charmingly modest and winsome in grace, 
While he matched Adonis, excepting the name. 

As might be expected, he secretly loved 

This beautiful Venus attractive in form, 

And his proud, manly spirit thus deeply moved, 

Impelled him to seek and to greet her each morn 

By and by in the gloaming they met, and confided 
Their mutual likings—a heaven-born pair, 

And they courted long evenings, with Cupid divided 
The scanty, close room of an old rustic chair. 

Now this is the story in rhyme briefly given, 

These lovers were married and lived long to tell 
How souls on the earth are oft mated in Heaven, 

Where spirits akin shall for evermore dwell. 

The story is ended, yet it spans a whole life, 

With its numberless cares and its joys all replete, 

And it shows how a brave heart may win a good wife, 

If there only be access to a plain rustic seat. 


Writings of a Roadman 


109 


A MEMORY. 

When the day is duty-laden, 

Under vexing trials sore, 

And the patient spirit yearns for quiet rest; 
When the saddened heart grows weary, 

With some burden hard to bear, 

Then I try to think of what I know is best. 

In my dream now comes a picture, 

Quaint and old of bygone years, 

Away back where my childhood days were passed, 
And in reverie I wonder, 

As I call up faces, yonder, 

Why the joys of early youthtime do not last. 

The old home seems so near me, 

With its loved ones there to cheer me, 

All gathered ’round the hearthstone as of yore; 

O what a welcome token, 

For the circle’s still unbroken, 

As I look upon the dear ones gone before. 

But Time rudely draws the curtain, 

And leaves me all uncertain, 

Half wondering if my dream will e’er come true; 
Yet somehow through the vision, 

I shall hope for fields elysian, 

And the fellowship of friends that I once knew. 


no 


Writings of a Roadman 


THE PUBLIC. 

With varied opinions and multiplied notions, 

What a strange mixture we see here and there. 

Can we ever expect from the jargon of voices. 

To know what the end will be, here or elsewherei 

O do not be anxious for the present or future, 

The world will jog on as it ever has done; 

But ever remember, though misused or slighted, 

In the common heart-throb that you count as one. 

The public, you know, we call the “dear people,” 

Though composed of a county, a state or a realm. 

We laud the d. p.—our country’s chief glory, 

But what of the men who are guiding the helm? 

Great questions arise and their final solution 

We leave to the people—their will to abide, 

We say that the voice of the people must govern, 

Their will is supreme when they once decide. 

No matter what’s done, it makes little dif’rence, 

Whether right, whether wrong, not yours to contend, 

The people are “it” in the battle hard waging, 

They may be wrong now but right in the end. 

No great public wrong will be suffered to linger, 

When the people arise in their might as one man, 

For the justice of God works the welfare of nations, 
When the people believe in the brotherhood plan. 


Writings of a Roadman 

OLD HOME SKIES. 

My love for home seems deeper, 

Than in youthtime’s days so long, 

When all the happy, buoyant thoughts, 
Made passing years one glad, sweet son*} 
And gave to life such lasting joys, 

I ne’er shall feel again. 

Till worldly snares and daily cares, 

No longer hinder their return. 

The lanes to pleasure stretch afar, 

And lure beyond to distant lands, 

Where meadows green are ever seen, 
Close by old ocean’s strands; 

And these with other Edens wild, 

May lead my steps to roam, 

Yet where is there a scene so fair, 

As that surrounding home? 

No spot however blest of God, 

With beauties rare and fine, 

Can take the place of that I loved, 

While undimned joys were mine, 

And though it matters little now, 

Just where the sun may rise, 

Somehow the view toward Heaven’s blue, 
Looks best in old home skies. 


WHAT MATTER. 

What matter though thy path be rough 
And thorny all the way? 

What matter though we never reach 
Some things for which we pray? 

If we are faithful, firm and true, 

As day by day we trod, 

The way, however dark and cold 
Will surely lead to God. 


Ill 



112 


Writings of a Roadman 

TALKING THROUGH ONE’S HAT. 


Ah, the summer has passed and I’m gone again, 

Just a little the worse for the service Fve seen; 

I am another example of the ingratitude cold, 

That usually comes to our kind when we’re old. 

During a few brief moons I was haughtily fair, 

As I jaunted down broadway six feet in the air, 

Doing service so proudly, why I thought I was> called 
To protect the hard pate of a man growing bald. 

Our friends with a smile used to say, “How d’ye do,” 

And the fair ones took notice when doffed to them, too. 
For the world was so gay and I little dreamed then, 

That I would soon be regarded as a faded “has been.” 

1 cut a great swell while my service did last, 

But am sorely chagrined since the glory has passed, 

And left me no choice but to submit to the plan 

Of a “muster-out-day” for the headgear of man. 

Now the pleasures external have not been the all, 

Of the things I have heard since the day of my call 
To crown the gray matter and live at the top, 

A tried and true friend through the summer days hot. 

The dome which I covered sometimes seemed to shake, 

With an ominous rumbling like a deep-seated quake 
Of the earth, ere the smouldering fires at the core, 

Break loose on the surface with a volcanic roar. 

I confess at such times I was puzzled to know, 

Just what would come next from the regions below, 

For who can fathom the depths of a busy man’s mind? 

Or analyze mysteries so strange to my kind? 

My place in the world was exultingly high, 

But alas, I’m deposed and I pass with a sigh 
To a place of retirement, though once justly proud, 

I register now with the “down-and-out” crowd. 

One word of advice, for the curtain must fall, 

And close up the drama of life for us all; 

Please remember we shine but a day at the best, 

Then let us live humbly ere we go to our rest. 


Writings of a Roadman 


US 


NAMING THE BABY. 

In a humble home one Christmas time, 
A little stranger came, 

A gift of new life sent from God, 

But it came without a name. 

This precious gift, a jewel rare, 

A rich bequest from Heaven, 

Was loved by brothers, sisters—all, 

And made a home of seven. 

It slept and cried as babies do— 

A most distinguished guest, 

And though it could not speak a word, 

I\t smiled just like the rest. 

The grandmas soon came in to see, 

This lovely child new-born, 

And held; in tender arms the gift, 

That came on Christmas morn. 

“Let’s call it Jo,” one sister said, 

“Or Joseph shall it be?” 

“O' no,” spoke up iher brother Tom, 
“Let’s name it after me.” 

The father said, “One Tom’s enough, 
We want but one of him;” 

Then came a word from little James, 
Who said, “Let’s call it Jim.” 

The mother now in soft tones spoke: 

“It can’t be Jo or Jim, 

For girls don’t have such names at all, 
We’ll call her Miriam.” 


January 26, 1913* 


Writings of a Roadman 


114 


THE DIVINE EQUATION. 

We may do what we will, 

We may travel afar ( 

To the ends of the earth it may be, 

We may fling out our lines to their limit of strength, 
We may compass the land and the sea; 

But when all has been done, 

When ambition is gone, 

When the span of a life has been run, 

It is then we will learn of God’s purpose and plan, 

To conquer things under the sun. 

We may build on the earth, 

If we choose in our day, 

Some monument stately and grand, 

That will tell to the world how we labored and won, 

As we covered the sea and the land; 

Yet we lose in the end 
If the motive be wrong— 

No success can forever endure, 

When we build all in vain for some self-centered gain, 

Forgetting that failure is sure. 

There are forces that count, 

And do more in the end, 

Our lives to make useful and bless, 

There’s a power we may use to reach our high aims, 
If we only the Source will confess; 

The mighty things wrought 
By the men who have lived, 

And whose works now in splendor outshine, 

The glamour of earth and the lustre of kingsi, 
Recognized the equation Divine. 


Writings of a Roadman 


115 


A REMEMBRANCE. 

O where is the fellow who. wears a man’s clothes, 

Who does a man’s work and bears a man’s woes, 

But who when a boy with a boy’s appetite, 

Had gnawings within from morning till night. 

And often when no one was looking his way, 

Slipped into the house at the close of the day, 

Then softly tip-toed, as boys are inclined, 

To' his mother’s old cupboard, the “good things” to find. 

In vision I see in the years now flown, 

A plain, humble cottage which we called home, 

And my heart-throbs quicken while time like a scroll, 
Reveals the dim past as its leaves unroll. 

How I fondly recall that charming old home, 

The vine-covered cabin by the wayside, alone; 

How lowly it seems since the years have rolled on, 

Leaving memory to cherish the scenes that are gone. 

The passing of time has changed the old place, 

And left of the former things scarcely a trace, 

Yet I cannot forget how I prized the rich “board,” 

Where various good things were constantly stored. 

Most men are but boys with hearts still the same 
As when they were young,—no matter if fame 

Has reached them and claimed them her own, 

They never forget a log cabin home. 

So, here’s to the man whose heart is still young, 

Who “lived by the roadside,” as poets have sung, 

And dreams of the days when a boy on the farm, 

He learned to love Nature,—her beauty and charm. 


May I, 1912. 


116 


Writings of a Roadman 


MY BABY'S LETTER. 

When absent long and careworn, 
When thoughts of home intrude, 
And the spirit feels the pressure 
Of a depressing solitude, 

That message is the sweetest 
Which tells of love and home— 
That brings me peace and comfort 
While sitting all alone. 

And now the postman enters, 

What message may he bring 
From out that queer collection, 

Of almost everything 
That goes to fill the pouches, 

Of Uncle Sam’s great mails? 

A letter? yes, he brings it 
From one who never fails. 

Straightway ’tis quickly opened, 
When in familiar hand, 

I catch the old home heading, 

The best in all the land; 

And then the words, ‘‘Dear Papa,” 
In letters large and plain, 

With some lines rather shaky, 

And the English somewhat lame. 


But the penmanship, and polish 
Of the language, what if these 
Are not quite right or up-to-date, 
They are largely made to please 
Those educated people, 

Who write by grammar rules. 
Who say that all our learning 
Should be acquired in schools. 


And then the message proper, 

Why, it makes me feel good now, 
While yet I think of what she wrote 
Ota the double page, and how 


Writings of a Roadman 


117 


She said she loved me—sent me kisses, 
Making pictures of the same, 

To emphasize her feelings, 

And her meaning to explain. 

Ah, these are missives golden 
To the man away from home, 

They strengthen all his being 
For the trials yet to come, 

The while he’s doing what he can 
To bless the lives of those, 

Whose letters come to cheer him, 

And bring him sweet repose. 


THE STOLEN KISS. 

She was passing fair to look upon, 

And her life the angels knew, 

Was faultless, pure and beautiful, 

The sum of all things true. 

No blighting stain of guilt and shame, 
Had marred her loveliness, 

While her childlike trust and beauty, 
Won many hearts to bless. 

She was helpless in her innocence, 

As he stealthily drew near, 

Prepared to execute the deed, 

A creature void of fear. 

Then, as she turned her rosy cheek, 

All unsuspecting quite, 

He quickly pressed his lips to hers, 

And softly said, “Good night.” 

A rude, unfeeling man, you say, 

Devoid of sense and shame; 

O no, for Jack had proudly kissed 
His own wife Hannah Jane. 



118 


Writings of a Roadman 

GOOD TIME COMING. 


We read of the good time coming, 

When men shall be brothers indeed, 

When each to the other his love will show 
By helping the brother in need; 

When peace and goodwill among nations, 

Shall make for the good of all men, 

And how the spirit of brotherly kindness, 

Will move on triumphantly then; 

When venomous quarreling ceases, 

Each rendering to all his full part, 

When selfishness no longer crushes, 

The impulse divine in the heart. 

Then the lamb and the lion together, 

As creatures akin shall lie down, 

The sword will be changed to a plowshare. 
When this era of peace shall have come. 

We dream of the glad time coming, 

When the law of God none will forget, 

All serving the Lord in pleasing accord, 

But alas, is it coming? not yet. 


GROWING FAT. 

No seer or prophet worldly wise, 

Can foretell all the things, 

That in our lives arise to make, 

Our happiness take wings. 

In early years our cup of joy 
Was filled to running over, 

No burdens then were ours to bear, 

We lived in richest clover. 

Alas, while yet we love to skip, 

And run about to this or that, 

Our freedom feels a handicap, 

The brakes are set, we’re growing fat. 



Writings of a Roadman 


119 


PEGGING AWAY. 

A bright farmer boy in plain honest garb, 

Returned to his home at the close of the day, 

Having toiled in the field until weary and tired, 

He was learning the lesson of pegging away. 

In the years of young manhood when life is a dream, 

As a learner at school he chose wisdom’s way, 

For the purposes deepened, making broader the vision, 

And with knowledge acquired he kept pegging away. 

He climbed the high ladder of fame and achievement, 

But longed for position which none could gainsay, 

For the goal of his early ambition was distant, 

So he strove still the harder in pegging away. 

To places of honor while a youth he aspired, 

And the creatures of Hope came forth in array, 

Until the mirages of fancy, dispelled evermore, 

Gave place to the real through pegging away. 

The power of great riches attracted him ever, 

And he followed this, phantom as any one may, 

But the fortune came quickly tO' satisfy longings, 

Acquired through the years of his pegging away. 

Possessing the wealth which the world freely gives, 

He was charmed by the spell of philanthrophy’s sway, 

And dispensed many gifts to the worthily humble, 

But kept everlastingly pegging away. 

Thus the youth in his vigor, the strong and the hoary, 

Go steadily onward, ever pegging and toiling away; 

Whether low, whether high, who will venture to say, 

That the law of our being is other than pegging away? 


120 


Writings of a Roadman 


OUT IN KANSAS* 

’Way out in Kansas where the sunflowers bloom, 

Where the corn grows tall and the summer comes soon, 
Where the hills stretch away toward the setting sun, 
And life on the plains goes swimmingly on— 

Out in Kansas. 

The days of the bison and cowboy are o’er, 

But the famous jackrabbit remains as of yore, 

And the bark of the coyote is not a strange sound, 

On the wide, lonely prairies that are yet to be found 

Out in Kansas. 

The grasshopper plague is a thing of the past, 

For the toil of the squatter has triumphed at last, 

And nature once wild now yields up her best, 

No country is better and the people are blest— 

Out in Kansas. 

Not all that exists on the far-stretching plain, 

Brings comfort to man o’er this wide domain, 

For the dreaded tornado, when the hot seasons come, 
Gets in deadly work on the pioneer’s home— 

Out in Kansas. 

The lands that were arid now blossom and glow, 

Rich fields of alfalfa have thus made it so, 

But the thing hard to bear in this sunny old state, 

It to travel by roads running trains a day late. 

But this is Kansas. 



Writings of a Roadman 


121 


SCHOOL DAYS. 

We are up in the morning ahead of the sun, 

Soon breakfast is over, the day’s work begun, 

There is no time to lose and little for play, 

It is hurry and hus'tle through all the day, 

For with lessons to learn and the duties of home, 
No wonder we long for a rest day to come. 

Vacation’s a dream, the real thing is here, 

The work must go on till the end of the year, 

And the daily humdrum with bright girls and boys, 
Drives ennui away with the summertime joys, 

For now is the time for effort and care 
To go hand in hand, to do and to dare. 

School days are soon gone, boys grow to be men, 

The difficult tasks are forgotten ere then, 

And we sigh for the games on the old playground, 
With the jolliest crowd that ever was found, 

But never again can we hope for the joys, 

Nor join in the sports that come to our boys. 


BE THANKFUL. 

When the cold wind blows from the frozen north zone, 
And the quiet of evening has come, 

When we sit ’round the hearth with dear ones grown old, 
And enjoy the rich comforts of home, 

Then let us give thanks that our lots have been cast, 
Where love reigns in hearts warm and true, 

Not forgetting the lowly, unfortunate ones, 

Whose blessings in life are but few. 



122 


Writings of a Roadman 


WHEN OUR COUNTRY GOES DRY. 

Let the leaders of our nation, 

Sound the note and give command, 
Let the shout of sturdy foemen, 

Ring aloud throughout the land; 

Let the battle-cry of freedom, 

Once ag^in be heard on high, 

For the day is surely coming 
When our country will be dry. 


Long has old Gambrinus conquered, 
With his horde of minions bought, 
Long the demon rum has cursed us, 
And our ruination sought; 

But the shackles shall be broken,— 
Our redemption draweth nigh. 

And there’ll be great jubilation 
When our nation goeth -dry. 


Here’s a call to every freeman: 
Let us stand for what is right. 
Let us banish yet forever, 

Satan’s traffic of the night; 

Let us strike a blow for honor, 
And for decency as well, 

That will ring a-down the ages, 
And reverberate through hell. 

Go sound the tocsin of defiance, 
Let the rummy ranks beware, 

That a day of wrathful reckoning 
Is fast approaching everywhere; 
That the forces to the conflict, 
Shall be gathered by-and-by, 

On the field of final struggle, 
When our country will go dry. 


All patient through their suffering, 
’Neath the galling yoke of rum, 
Have the guiltless plead deliv’rance, 


Writings of a Roadman 


123 


Praying for the time to come, 

When the wicked, shameless brothels, 
With the foul horde’s fiendish cry, 
May find no place of refuge, 

When our country has gone dry. 

Let the call for reformation, 

Sound through all our wide domain, 
Let the sin that hides in darkness, 
Never find a place again; 

And may Right be vindicated, 
Through our efforts as we try 
To make our country glorious, 

And forever keep it dry. 


THE WINDS OF GOD. 


No prayer is ever lost to Him, 

Who knoweth best our steps to guide, 
No song is ever sung in vain, 

While the Spirit with us doth abide. 

Our songs and prayers from day to day, 
May echo back some urgent call, 

From hearts bowed down in sorest need, 
Where sin’s dark shadow covers all. 

If willing souls though weak at best, 

Seek earnestly some good to do, 

The winds of God will carry far, 

The message of the heart that’s true. 

Thus prayer and song and loving trust, 

But sown the while our ways we trod, 
Will ne’er be lost to earth or heaven, 

They’re carried on the winds of God. 



124 


Writings of a Roadman 


A BOY’S SPEECH. 

What do you think? 

Are boys made to play, 

And eat only good things 

To make them grow tall, 

And never be useful, 

Or help anyone? Say, 

What do you think? 

Do playing and eating 
From day unto day 
Constitute all? 

Well no, I don’t think, so. 

The boys of our land, 

Though small they may be, 
Can work some I guess 
While eating and growing 

And learning to be men; 

Men full grown and nothing less 
Will satisfy us, for I know, you see, 
The world cannot run 

Without boys like me. 


HOPE’S STAR. 

It matters little to me here, 

Just where my lot be cast, 

Since I am His I shall not fear 
To meet my God at last. 

The Lord has given. He will take 
The life He gave in His own time 
I live in Him and for His sake 

I strive to reach the life divine. 

However great my joy in Him, 

My lowly heart is best consoled, 
When, looking down the vistas dim, 

I yet discern His love unfold. 



Writings of a Roadman 


125 


TWO WAYS. 

Did you ever notice how matters go wrong, 

How hearts are made sad when there ought to be song? 

How questions get tangled and nothing seems right, 

When the light of the day is turned into night? 

And life is a burden day after day, 

When man has his way? 

Have you heard the sweet music that comes with the spring, 
That welcomes the flowers and makes the woods ring? 

Have you seen how the blessings come down from above, 

When the motto of life is the great law of love? 

And how self is abased and victories won, 

When God’s will is done? 


CONTENTMENT. 

Talk about pleasures that money will bring, 

Dream of the happiness born in the spring, 

Extol all creation when the mockingbirds sing; 

But what are these blessings compared to the joy, 
That comes to the mind of any “old boy,” 

At the dawn of the morn when the corn top’s ripe, 
And he goes forth to toil— 

With his old cob pipe? 

O sing of the mighty who live on the hill, 

Bow down to the money king and worship him still, 
Do homage to greatness and ambition’s will; 

But what are such baubles compared to the joy 
That swells in the breast of any “old boy,” 

At the close of the day when the corn top’s ripe, 
And he sits by the fire— 


With his old cob pipe? 



126 


Writings of a Roadman 


WHEN “PADI” COMES TO TOWN. 

The air is filled with rumors 
Of how the people come, 

From Dan to far Beersheba 
To hear the mighty one, 

And see him pound the ivories 
In finished style, you know, 

For a Barnum isn’t in it 
When “Padi” gives a show. 

He comes in regal fashion, 

This king in music grand, 

To gather in the shekels 
From o’er this goodly land, 

And to dazzle all the natives 
With his brilliancy, I trow, 

For the people sit and marvel 
When “Padi” gives a show. 

It is said of Paderewski, 

When his charming music flows, 

That it hypnotizes women. 

For so the story goes, 

And it seems from my observing, 

As I watched his hands come down, 

That you might as well surrender 
When “Padi” comes to town. 

Somehow he makes you wonder, 
While you sit a-drinkin’ in 
The melodies of Heaven 
That come pourin’ out of him, 

Why the angels up in glory 
Ever sent him down below, 

For they surely want to be here 
When “Padi” gives a show. 

And now perhaps I’m dreaming, 

As I pause to learn just why 
This music-wizard leads me 
From the earth up to the sky, 

But, friend, no mortal being 
With a soul attuned to praise, 

Should miss the things a-doin’ 

When Paderewski plays. 


Writings of a Roadman 


127 


SANTA CLAUS. 

While the sun in the west sinks slowly to rest, 

And the snow-covered earth lies serene, 

When the night grows so still under old winter’s chill, 

And the moon high above looks down on the scene; 

When the noise of the shop is hushed for the night, 

When the toilers are all in their homes, 

When the tasks are all done and low burns the light, 

To guide Santa Claus in when he comes. 

Then out from his castle far up in the land, 

Where reigns the stormking all the year, 

This queer little man in his palace so grand, 

Makes haste to depart for Christmas is here. 

His fleet-footed, beautiful train is soon gone, 

With its treasures so rare and its burden of toys, 

To visit his friends in their far-scattered homes,— 

To search for good children, the girls and the boys. 

He sweeps down the earth with his joy-ladened sleigh, 

To quickly distribute his gifts here and there, 

For the hours are so short, it soon will be day, 

And back he must go in his ride through the air. 

O how does this jolly old Santa so fine, 

Know each good boy and girl soundly sleeping in bed, 
While he hurries and hustles through all the nighttime, 
From housetop to chimney? but he does it is said. 


128 


Writings of a Roadman 


ARMAGEDDON. 

When the prophet saw the future, 

And foretold what was to be, 

He wrote of Armageddon, 

In the country of the free. 

There will be a mighty struggle, 

The right against the wrong, 

When Gogi and Magog battle, 

In the valley wide and long. 

We shall stand at Armageddon, 

In the battle for the Lord, 

We shall strike for truth ana justice, 
And Right shall be our sword. 

The foe is fast appearing, 

Our fortress to assail, 

The battle-shout will soon be heard, 

But our Leader cannot fail. 

Why not stand at Armageddon, 

Since our cause is nothing less, 

Than the faith of every freeman, 

Who declares for righteousness. 

The impending clash of armies, 

And the soldier’s heavy trod, 

Will resound at Armageddon, 

The battlegrounds of God. 

Truth and right will be the victors, 
Wrong shall then be overthrown, 
On the plains of Armageddon, 

God will make His purpose known. 


Writings of a Roadman 


129 


THE MAY BASKET. 

Hang a basket tonight for me, my Love, 

On the latch of the door to my heart; 

Come silently while I slumber, 

Then softly do thou depart. 

Thus when I awake from sleeping, 

To the thoughts of another day, 

I may know that you are my sweetheart still, 
Though you may be far away. 

So hang a May basket of love, my dear, 

And forget it not tonight, 

That I on the morrow may fondly cherish, 

This token of Love’s delight. 


THE CONTINUITY OF LOVE. 

The tides of busy years have ebbed and flowed, my Love, 

Since first we met. The lightsome gayety of hearts attuned 
To love, and the sunny smile, have stood the test of sterner 
Things in life, and we are companions still, 

Faithful and true. 

Then be assured full well that no mockery of faith, or flitting 
Sense of joyous happiness and mirth, can breast alone the 
Years of trial and endless toil. To overcome and love one still, 
Comes not with our own striving. It is rather the echo of a 
Divine nature in human hearts that keeps us to our orbits. 

No hasty impulse, nor unkind thought, or deed, can break such 
Love apart. It is sealed with the cement of God’s own 
Gracious favor, and it will live on until Nature dies, when the 
Angels of Love shall meet again in a fairer world than this. 


October, 1906. 



ISO 


Writings of a Roadman 


A RAINBOW SOMEWHERE ALL THE 
TIME. 

Though dark clouds cover heaven’s blue, 

Above which shines the golden day, 

And darkest shadows hide the view 
To vistas bright and a fairer way, 

Look up with hope new-born and strong, 

The unseen glories shall be thine, 

No darksome hour can tarry long, 

There’s a rainbow somewhere all the time. 


EATING THE CRUST. 

If a boy desires to reach 

A manhood strong and true, 

If he expects to win a prize, 

And show the world what he can do, 

If he aspires to be a man, 

And honor all whom he would trust, 

He needs to do the best he can, 

Nor hesitate to eat the crust. 

If mother’s pies are very good, 

And made for hungry boys to eat, 

They should not scoop the juicy part, 

And leave the job thus incomplete; 

The soft, white bread she also makes 
For growing boys to masticate, 

And they should eat it all, or none, 

Not hide the crusts beside the plate. 

If you should see a bright-eyed boy, 

With rimless hat and freckled face, 

Of this, I ween, you may be sure, 

That he is out to win the race; 

For he no doubt doth understand, 

That if he wins, he surely must 
Be strong and follow good advice, 

And bravely eat up all the crust. 



Writings of a Roadman 


131 


THE PERPLEXED ROADMAN. 

’Tis not, Shall I be rich and great, 

Or win the laurels due me? 

’Tis not to grieve o’er bygone years, 

While old regrets pursue me. 

But over all my trouble looms, 

One anxious thought I had on Monday, 
It isn’t much but still it comes: 

Will I have a clean shirt for Sunday? 


A QUARTETTE OF KINGS. 

I 

Proud bird! Our emblem of liberty, in azure sky, 

Sweeps boldly upward in his matchless flight, 

Swinging aloft o’er cloud and mountain top so high— 

Spirit of .freedom, a fitting symbol of power and might. 

II 

The kingly monarch of the jungle, with shaggy mane, 

Comes forth at close of day, his hidden prey to find; 

His deep-toned challenge reverberating o’er the plain, 

Makes lesser breeds to fear and flee before his kind. 

III 

Arabian beauty! Creation’s richest gift of splendid form. 

Assume thy right to greatest honor for noble service done; 

We gladly give to thee the highest place of creatures born 

To share man’s heaviest burdens beneath the rolling sun. 

IV 

God’s masterpiece—His spirit-image, made to reign, 

On earth to hold dominion till time shall be no more. 

Man comes to conquer and eternal life to gain, 

While swiftly passing to a boundless shore. 



132 


Writings of a Roadman 


WHEN MOLLIE GATHERS GREENS. 

Glad Spring is here with promise bright, 
The sunshine wakes anew, 

The sleeping treasures hid from sight, 

And calls them back to view. 

New life abounds in wondrous forms, 

We see them in our dreams, 

And realize the time has come, 

When Mollie gathers greens. 

In dress so neat, with face so sweet, 

Her bonnet scarcely seems, 

A thing to hide the smiles within, 

When Mollie’s out for greens. 

With basket clean and knife so keen, 

She seeks the hill where teems, 

The growing dandelions fresh, 

For Mollie’s after greens. 

And working still she hums a tune, 

The while the sun’s warm beams 

Make mellow radiance ’round the spot, 
Where Mollie gathers greens. 

Our thanks to thee, thou happy maid, 

We welcome old-time scenes; 

Long may you live and prosper much, 

And ne’er neglect the greens. 


Writings of a Roadman 


HARVEST HOME. 

In forest still near copse and' hill, 

When shadows point the day’s decline, 
The noisy beetles sound abroad 

Their ceaseless din from treetops dense. 

And mark the hour of evening time. 

Long summer hours with cooling showers, 
Give place to Autumn’s restful reign, 

When ripened, golden harvests come 
To bless the toiler’s humble home, 

With rich rewards for faithful service done 

But best of all we hear the call, 

To Nature’s splendid banquet hall, 

Where choicest gifts are hers to give 

And ours to choose. We quickly say 
The melon ripe has right of way. 

Then let us now rejoice, and make 

The season’s fruitage count for good, 

The while we plan to celebrate 

Our harvest home with friends so dear, 
Lest we forget that watermelon time is here 


IN NATURE’S LAP. 

Away from the city’s ceaseless grind, 
Away from the nerve-strained throng, 
Far out on the ocean’s bracing wind, 
Alone with the sea and the sky, 

I turn to the source of every good. 

To the One who reigns on high. 

Away from the grime of the busy street, 
Away from the jostling crowd, 

Far up in the mountain’s cool retreat, 
Alone with the rocks and the sky, 

I rest my soul in the solitude, 

For I feel that God is nigh. 



134 - 


Writings of a Roadman 


TWO ROSES. 

In a mansion of wondrous beauty, 

Two roses of purest white, 

Looked up in their festooned loveliness, 

As they greeted the morning light 

Then, approaching the pure creations, 

By the sweet perfume of one, 

I discerned it reflect its Maker, 

In the atmosphere of the home. 

To the eye they both were beautiful, 

Yet life to but one was given, 

Through mystic ways of the Infinite, 

While the other mocked high Heaven. 

To the world two lives seem beautiful, 

As each pursues its plan; 

But one is born of the Spirit, 

While the other is born of man. 

As one of the roses was scented, 

While the other was barren of breath, 

So the *re-born soul shall live with God, 

While the other goes down to death. 

*Marvel not that I said unto thee: ye must be born again.—J 


Writings of a Roadman 


135 


SOUL YEARNINGS. 

We sigh for a rest ’neath the leafy shade, 
When the sun’s fierce rays descend,— 

For the cooling breeze of the evening, 

And the peace that comes at the end 
Of a day in the hea/t of summer, 

When the hours drag heavy with care, 

And the constant strain on heart and brain, 
Seems greater than one can bear. 

We long for the joy of that Refuge, 

When the wicked darts are hurled, 

In the harbor of God’s contentment, 

Away from the turbulent world, 

Where we come to the welcome shadow 
Of a Rock that is firm and high, 

Whose sheltering power each passing hour, 
Gives strength as we draw nigh. 


SOMEBODY’S BABY. 

I watched a strange procession, 

As it passed in mournful mien, 

To a churchyard still and lonely, 

On a hillside clothed in green. 

I saw a sad, young mother, 

As she rode in silence by, 

And beheld a tiny casket, 

Borne by friends so tenderly. 

The scene still comes before me, 

When I realize through all, 

How lives like leaves soon fade and die, 
And pass beyond recall. 



136 


Writings of a Roadman 


MOTHER. 

Be good to mother. 

God knows her heart and how, 

She has been earth’s guardian angel 
Of precious lives till now. 

He alone knows her tender love, 

Her sublime devotion to noble ends, 
Rendering a gentle ministry, 

Through unfeigned sympathy, 

To her jewels which heaven sends. 

Be good to mother 

While yet ’tis hers to live, 

And make her know thy love; 

As she has borne for you and given all, 

So thou be gracious and to her as freely give. 


EVENING. 

The king of day sinks slowly down, 
Twilight comes creeping on, 

While tinted clouds in western sky, 

Float high in azure dome. 

In lonely copse the Whippoorwill 
Begins her evening song, 

And croakings from the distant marsh, 
Make music all night long. 

The weary toiler goes to rest, 

His daily task now done, 

Has earned for him a respite sweet, 
With loved ones in his home. 

The darkness deepens, Nature sleeps, 
The stars look calmly down 
On undulating fields and woods, 

That skirt the quiet town. 



Writings of a Roadman 


13 


BASEBALL OR “WHAT’S THE SCORE?” 

Joe Sykes a man of much renown, 

Dwelt on Cathell street in Beavertown, 

His mutual friend, B. Jones by name, 

Had reached the point of wealth and fame. 

The sporting s-eason had just begun, 

And the B’town club joined in the fun. 

The village of Dunton ten miles away, 

Announced a game for the opening day. 

The clubs in the villages far and near, 

Had played baseball for many a year. 

J. Sykes and B. Jones were men full of vim, 

And decided forthwith that B’town must win. 

The teams had been playing some four weeks or more, 
Each pledging its backers the other shouldn’t score. 

J. S. and B. J. with commendable pride, 

Put up many “shekels” on behalf of their side. 

They argued that men of such local repute, 

Must furnish the gold if the “rooters” could root. 

The time for the game was finally set, 

And backers galore were eager to 1 bet. 

The village of Dunton was run by a clan, 

That was ready for battle and backed every man. 

The Beavertown boys, with Joe’s and Bill’s backing, 
Were cocksure of winning, so nothing was lacking. 

The day for the contest dawned brightly in May, 

And the place for the game was at Dunton that day. 

So the B’town contingent, with a whoop and a bound, 
Made haste to old Dunton, their foes to confound. 

J. Sykes and B. Jones, for reasons unknown, 

Were called to do business in Walkerton town, 

But the game went right on the end. 

These lords of creation returned late at night, 

And wondered the while if the game ended right. 

But, tired and weary, they went to their rest, 

Believing their team had landed first best. 

Ere the morrow had dawned on the village of B, 

A great storm arose as soon we shall see, 

And it came like a legion of demons from,—well, 

It tore up the town, sending people pell mell 
To the four winds of Heaven. 


138 


Writings of a Roadman 


Joe ‘Sykes and Bill Jones were sent flying from bed 

In scanty attire, and onward they sped 

Through the darkness of night, ’mid the furious storm, 

(The visage of death could not seem more forlorn), 

For the heavens were filled with the wreck of the town, 

And poor Joe and Bill thought they would never come down. 
They were hurled many miles by the storm’s howling blast, 
Till, more dead than alive, they landed at last. 

Though battered and bruised by the raging cyclone, 

Their fortunes seemed worse to be cast all alone 
In a great dismal swamp in the dead of the night, 

To suffer and die,—what a terrible plight. 

But others than they were scattered broadcast, 

And dropped here and there by the storm as it passed. 

Some were carried along by the mad winds until. 

They fell in the swamp near by Joe and Bill. 

And the groans of the dying were heard from afar, 

Making vivid a scene like the carnage of war. 

However the ruin so great and so vast, 

Joe Sykes and Bill Jones were “game” to the last. 

And, hearing a straggler bemoaning his lot, 

They shouted to learn if from B’town or not, 

He came through the air as the others had done, 

And he answered, “I have and to you I will come.” 

He came on apace, until clasping the hand 
Of Joe, then of Bill, they sought solid land. 

Having reached higher ground, they were scarcely ashore, 
Than Joe and Bill eagerly asked, “What’& the score?” 

They were told of the battle which lasted till night, 

And that B’town had won by a very hard fight; 

That the backers returned with the “swag” of the day, 

For they broke up the bankers of Dunton they say. 

But the gains through the game, borne triumphantly home, 
Were wrecked in the night by the deadly cyclone. 

And while ruin there reigns and B’town is sad, 

The people of Dunton say the Furies were mad. 


Writings of a Roadman 


139 


THE VOICE FROM SINAI. 

When the eternity of God first broke into years, 

And the morning light shed forth upon the new-born earth 
Its quickening rays, then was multiplied in many forms the 
Creatures born of light—to live, mayhap, a time and 
Pass away that breeds less vile and, forsooth, uncomely 
Might fill the earth and turn to good account the handiwork 
Of Him whose breath doth wake anew to stations more exalted, 
The inert though sleeping seeds of life eternal. 


In the awakening creation of the new world, there heaved 
To view the hidden mass of rock and clay, and from out earth’s 
Aqueous bosom the mountains high in majesty arose. And dry 
Land appeared vast and wide. Forthwith arose creatures of 
Wondrous forms to claim dominion, and withal, each measured day 
Encompassed the darkness of the passing night. 


Then sprang to view the slumbering myriads of ge minating 
Kind, and dense forest growths, darkened by twining vines 
O’erhanging. In the deep shadows of this primeval beauty the 
Wild beasts hid from the morning sun, and creeping reptiles 
Dragged their slow lengths into the noonday light. There also, 
From out those amaranthine bowers, echoed the songs of 
Sweet-toned birds, together mingled with the ceaseless chatter 
Of Nature’s mocking tribes. There, too, in the valleys of earth 
Were scenes all vocal with praise to their Creator. 


Visioned with keener intuitions than creatures less 
Approved, now comes the being clothed with power, this wildness 
To subdue. And upright man from his Edenic home extends his 
Subjugating arm to conquer all. No strain of lower blood 
Dares interpose, while under heaven’s vast azure dome his 
Power is far extended. 

Thus man was made to rule and the caravan of the race 
Began its long earth pilgrimage. Through many ages the tribal 
Creature wrought doubtful conquests in his vain endeavor to 
Reign supreme—unvexed by hostile camps. The march of time 


140 


Writings of a Roadman 


Brought garlands rare to crown this regal lord, while kingdoms 
Rose and man became man’s unrelenting foe. 

Then came from Sinai’s towering form, Jehovah’s voice 
Speaking for man’s advantage and writin,g on tables of stone 
The Law revealed. That Voice was heard and ages long have 
Recognized and verified its wondrous declarations. 

O 'Sinai! what tribes have heard 

Thy mighty voice, thy thundering peals. 

Sent forth from thy commanding height, 

To teach the truth which God reveals. 

What nations feel thy power to guide 
The destinies of peoples great, 

For they who know thy righteous Law, 

Build strongly an enduring State. 

O Mountain of that ancient time! 

The words of wisdom thou hast given. 

Are treasured still by lowly man, 

That all may know the way to Heaven. 

That voice through ages long shall be, 

To all the world the voice of God, 

And nations yet shall follow in, 

The royal path that Moses trod. 


January I, 1913. 


Writings of a Roadman 


141 



THE FADING CROWN. 

It was not always thus. 

In days agone no crown was more royally protected. 
Time was when the luxury of.hair 
And wealth of beauty 

Made sages envy the strength of ruddy youth. 

Alas, alas, the stress of busy years, 

The lurking germ and sore neglect 
Have brought some bald regrets. 

Withal, commingling in deep humility that fleeth not, 
But even now exalts a contrite heart. 

And so it loometh some, 

Yet not to ignoble ends, 

For reverence grave is due the honored head of him, 
Who, though shorn of raven locks, 

Still emulates with spirit young the soaring eagle, 

And points to Heaven’s ethereal blue. 


MAY 










































































































Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: Oct. 2011 

PreservationTechnologies 

A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 

111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
(724)779-2111 









































